“Brighter! Stronger! These puny flames aren’t enough!” Pyrite’s voice boomed throughout the chamber. “Is this all you sheddings can do? What a pathetic display!”
I rolled my eyes as the old soldier continued on with his ramblings. When I first started training, his insults would make me shake so hard that my embers would scatter. After years of the same old barks, Pyrite’s taunts have lost their impact. Now it was simple to tune him out while rolling the ball of flames along my fingertips. As Pyrite droned on, the ball continued to pass slowly from each finger on my right hand to the next. After a few seconds, the ball sped up and began to stretch. Now it covered two fingers at once, then three, until the swirling flames encased my entire hand.
Easy enough. Time to push a little harder.
I held my hand underneath my chin and closed my eyes. I willed the flames to shift and felt the heat follow accordingly. The growing blaze stretched towards my right side, not quite touching me, and wrapped around my back until it connected with my palm once more. I relaxed my hand, causing two more strands to form another pair of rings. I withdrew my hands as the rings began to spin, making me see blurs from against my eyelids. With a sigh, I drew my left hand across the air in front of me. The rings hovered higher, above my head, before collapsing into a single, searing ring. I closed my fist, then opened it again. The new rings shrunk immediately and descended into my palm. I opened my eyes to a ball of flames spinning several times faster than when it had begun, casting a glow that plastered my shadow onto the wall behind me. With a flick, the fireball exploded into a cloud of cinders that fell and died around my feet.
“Now that was a prime example of what I should be seeing!” Pyrite bellowed. “Excellent, Talon! A perfect showing of today’s warmup!” There was a mumbling of mixed admiration, exasperation, and bitterness throughout the training chamber at Pyrite’s words. The teacher turned his back on me and continued pacing the room as others tried to complete the exercise.
I felt a sharp pain on the back of my knee that faded as quickly as it came. “Quit showin’ off, would ya? You’re makin’ me look bad,” said an ever so familiar voice to my right. “It’s only the first day, bigshot.”
I gave a smirk at his complaints. “Then I guess you should just catch up,” I said with a heavy amount of fake wisdom.
Beryll gave a snort and returned to his own fireball. “Sure, you say that like it’s soooo easy! Keep up with the best student in the class; be on par with a sure candidate for the Forged-Scales. Why not? It seems simple enough. Not at aaaallllllllllll difficult in aaaaaannnnnyyyyyyyyy sort of way. Nope. Not one bit.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little at him. Beryll always had a way to bring out my humor. No matter what situation we were in, Beryll could always find a way to make me laugh. He may not be the strongest or smartest, but he was irreplaceable and I would have him around rather than any other Dragonic student.
“Seriously, though, ever thought about slowin’ down a little, or at least at the beginnin’? Keep this up, and ol’ Pyrite will have ya showin’ off every mornin’ by the end of the month. Don’t ya worry about burnin’ out so soon?”
I thought for a moment, but nothing came to mind. “Nope, not worried whatsoever,” I replied.
Beryll produced a cross between a snort and a sigh as he began to form his first ring. His flames were closer in color to him than mine; warm orange reflecting off the pale orange scales on his forearm. “Can’t say I’m surprised.” Sparks flew off his ring as the other two began to form. Beryll drew quiet as he struggled with the practice.
My wings ruffled as more sparks leaped from his flames. This kind of exercise was not Beryll’s forte. He preferred a short, powerful burst of flames, so drawn out ones like these were much more difficult. By the time his third ring was complete, showers of sparks were issuing from almost every ember of flames, concealing anything below his shoulders. Sweat was beginning to appear along his brow. He gave a quick flick of his wrist. The rings zipped upwards, collapsed, and fell in one, rushed motion. Even the fireball was spewing sparks as it rested in his hand. Beryll met my eyes as footsteps began stomping over to us. He rolled his eyes as Pyrite came within centimeters of Beryll’s outstretched palm.
A growl tore up from the teacher’s throat as he glared at Beryll, who was nonplussed. “What was that cruddy display?” Pyrite barked. “Have you so little control of your own flames? So many sparks made by someone supposedly in the Scorch! Did you get lost on your way here? Are you perhaps some low Ignitor that wandered in here by mistake?”
Beryll looked himself over with played curiosity before replying in an innocent tone, “Don’t believe so.”
Pyrite stepped closer, sparks catching on his clothing. “What was that?”
Beryll tilted his head, maybe to conceal his struggle to hide his smile, as he replied, “I believe I’m in the right year, considerin’ that these have been my classmates for the past whatever so years, my age fits, and the fact that I passed my tests for last year. Sooooooooo, yeah, I’m in the right class.”
Scarlet raced up Pyrite’s neck and into his face as more mixed mutterings of humor and annoyance began from the remaining students. I was halfway between laughing and anxiety. Beryll was already off to a bad start. He just had to choose the worst possible teacher to piss off right from the start. I sighed.
That’s Beryll.
“A puny, insolent, arrogant brat like you should at least have the common sense to show even the smallest shred of respect towards his elders.”
“Oh right. Augh hem.” Beryll cleared his throat. “I’m in the right class, sir.”
I couldn’t resist letting a small chuckle get the better of me. Thankfully (and unfortunately) Pyrite’s full attention was still on Beryll. The rest of the students had already let their flames simmer away as the two stared each other down. Pyrite towered over Beryll, but my friend didn’t seem faltered in the slightest.
“Extinguish that miserable flame this instant,” Pyrite commanded through clenched teeth.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A mischievous glint flashed in Beryll’s eyes. “Of course, sir. Right away.” Beryll started to move his hand upwards.
Oh crap! Not this again!
I flicked my tail against his heel as discreetly as I could. Beryll froze for a second, then he tipped his hand and the flames spilled out as cinders towards the stone floor. Pyrite gave a stiff nod before he walked away. Beryll let his hand fall, gave a huff, and mumbled, “Thanks.”
I shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of my friend being thrown out on the first day. At least make it through the first week.”
Beryll thought for a moment. “Can I at least get a warnin’? Maybe detention?”
“Like I could stop you.”
Beryll smiled broadly as a bell rang throughout the cavern. Pyrite unfurled his wings and shouted, “That’s it for today! You all have ten minutes to reach your next class! Everyone better be on their best behavior!” His gaze landed on Beryll, who gave a small wave.
As we began to shuffle down the tunnel, Beryll nudged me and said, “I don’t see what the problem is. That was my best behavior. What more is he askin’ for?” I finally started laughing, causing Beryll to smile even wider.
We made our way into another chamber that was much larger than the one we were just in. Dozens of tunnels branched off deeper into the mountain. The ceiling soared upwards until it opened to a clear sky. Balconies wrapped around the walls of the cavern, with even more tunnels peppered along them. Hundreds of Dragonics, most of them students, were moving within the chamber: flying between balconies, running to and from the ground tunnels, catching up with friends before heading to class.
“What class do we have next?” Beryll asked.
“Let’s see,” I pulled a sheet of paper from one of the sacks on my belt. On it was the list of classes I had throughout the day. “Next is flying maneuvers with Carbonclaw.” Beryll and I had the same classes, except for the last two.
Groaning, Beryll unfurled his wings and stretched them as wide as he could. Bones and muscles and scales stronger than any other on his body protruded from below his shoulders and, now fully exposed, reached out several feet on either side of him. Smaller extensions hung from the first, with a membrane of skin running along the entire structure. Sunlight reflected of Beryll’s orange scales as he flapped his wings a few times. “At least we’ll be movin’ in this class. Come on!.” I nodded, spreading my own wings, and the two of us took off through the opening in the ceiling.
The breeze was calm today as we made our way to the edge of the school. Dragonics sunning themselves on the top of the rocky terrain waved as we passed above them. Some Kindling students were chasing each other around on a stretch of flat stone, some leaping and failing to fly on underdeveloped wings.
Beryll and I landed on a flat stretch of land with well-kept grass that poked at the bottom of my feet. A handful of other students had already arrived, and several more were on their way. The teacher, Carbonclaw, was flying around the training grounds as she watched for the remaining students. Beryll and I sat down as we waited for class to begin.
----------------------------------------
One after another, we trailed from class to class as the day wore on. When it came to history and math, Beryll kept yawning and stubbornly distracting himself as the teachers droned on. Eventually, the final two classes loomed ahead. Beryll and I parted ways as our schedules finally diverged. Alone, I walked down the tunnel that leads into the deepest depths of Meltingpot. There weren’t any windows cut into the stone this far in; instead, torches rested in alcoves along the walls. The tunnel opened into yet another chamber, but this one was much smaller than the entrance chambers. The ceiling was about fifteen feet up and over a hundred feet wide and long. It stretched onwards before ending at shelves and chests that contained a plethora of items, weapons, and other materials. Racks holding weapons, ranging from swords to maces to bows, were evenly spaced along the walls.
I was the first to arrive, so I sat in the corner to the left of the entrance. By the time the bell rang throughout the school, the rest of the students had shown up. It was a much smaller class compared to the rest I’ve had today; there were about twenty students in total. These were the best, the smartest, the strongest, the ones aiming for the top. And yes, that included me, I guess.
I snapped out of my thoughts as a figure larger than any of the students strode the entrance, followed by three more, smaller Dragonics. Bringing up the back was a female Dragonic with dark skin around her face; dull gold scales along her forearms, neck, wings, tail, and legs; a shallow shirt that stopped just below her navel and left her upper back exposed (a common trend among Dragonics due to the obvious fact that we need to leave our wings unrestrained); and a large, alabaster tooth hanging from a wire around her neck. She appeared to be the youngest, maybe a few years out of school. She stifled a yawn and shook long, auburn hair out of her eyes.
The next two were more of what I was expecting: both of them were males, around their forties or so; one had dark red scales with tanned skin, while the other’s forest green scales stood out against his pale complexion; each wore an open back tunic that was tuck under their belts; wore thick pants with their legs over heavy soled boots; with both of them having stony expressions.
It was the Dragonic in front that was the most noteworthy. Upon his entrance, every student kept their eyes trained on him. Scarlet scales underlaid with copper flickered with the torches. He spread his wings, seeming to fill the chamber as he did so. His sable hair was trimmed short, just long enough to start to fall under its own weight. Boots strode unhurriedly across the floor, the sound of footsteps uninterrupted except for the crackle of flames. He reached the middle of the chamber before turning around to face us. His face, as best as I can describe, effortlessly demanded respect with the smallest glance.
He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but it was a moot point. Everyone here, every student, knew who he was. If you attended Meltingpot, you knew him.
“My name is Scorchwing, as you may know, and this is the first class for those who wish to one day reach the Forged-Scales. You are allowed to take these classes because you were deemed to have the potential to make it to the top of the Dragonics. However, you have only been granted a starting point. These classes have one purpose and one purpose only: to prepare you for the trials you’ll face in the future. Nothing in these classes are guaranteed: some of you may pass, some of you may fail, others might give up halfway through and drop down into the regular curriculum. If that’s the case, then you do not have what it takes to reach the Forged-Scales.
“Each teacher here will assess each one of you, and they will guide and push towards your own improvement. The first class will consist of an overall honing of your abilities. We will alternate between controlling fire, weapons, flight, exercise, and any other field throughout the duration of the course. The second class shall focus on individual students. During that time, we will separate the students between each of us teachers in order to help those students in a certain field with more specific instructions.”
He shook out his wings, burst of flames erupting from his scales for a second, illuminating every crag of the chamber, before surrounding him in a cloud of embers. “This is only the start of a very long, tedious journey. You will face many difficulties in many forms, but if you manage to persevere until the end, then you achieve a goal only a few could ever reach. It is our job to get you started, but only if you have the strength to see it through. It is my hope that those who make it through this course will achieve the title of Forged-Scale after graduation. With that, I believe I have said everything I needed to say. Let the first class begin!”
The students cheered and applauded as Scorchwing ended his speech. I joined in on the applause, but I couldn’t show all my enthusiasm. A nagging feeling pulled at the corner of my mind, nurturing doubts that I’ve pushed away time and time again. This is where I’m supposed to be. This is what I need to do. I will complete these classes, pass the trials, and come out as a Forged-Scale. It’s what I’ve been preparing for my whole life. It’s what I have to do.
Then why does it feel wrong?