Fire and Foe

Anticipation hung thick in the air, mingled with a sense of nervous energy that seemed to ripple through the crowd. No one knew what awaited them. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, a choice made without negotiation. Once chosen, there was no going back—only death could sever the bond. Only a select few got the chance to be chosen by a dragon egg.

The egg chooses its rider. That was the rule, that was the mantra.

No magic or force could compel an egg to bond with a human. Adult dragons might be bound by magic, but the wild ones fought against such domination with savage fury, often at the cost of their captors' lives.

Rivera had heard dark tales of humans enslaving wild dragons to fulfill selfish ambitions. Those bonds, unnatural and cruel, always ended in tragedy. The dragons turned feral, leaving behind destruction in their wake.

Her thoughts shattered like glass when she bumped into someone.

"Watch where you're going, whelp," a sharp voice growled above her.

Rivera looked up to see the speaker. He was taller, with grayish skin, sharp tusks peeking from the corners of his mouth, and piercing black eyes. An orc.

Her father had told her stories about them—creatures of raw strength and ferocity. In Transia, her hometown on the Empire's outskirts, orcs were hunted and killed on sight. The town's bloodied history of raids and battles left little room for mercy.

"What are you staring at, whelp? Something in my eye you want to touch?" The orc's eyes twitched as he flexed his muscular arms. Although he was huge, Rivera didn't think he was much older than her. Orcs were naturally huge creatures and his tusks looked funny rather than scary.

Her heart raced, fear sipping through her bones. But she refused to show it. She had never fought an orc before. Her combat training hadn't prepared her for this encounter, but she wouldn't back down.

"I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry," Rivera said evenly, ensuring her voice didn't betray her nerves.

The orc's fists clenched, his glare darkening. Before he could reply, a commanding voice cut through the tension.

"Can I have your attention, please?"

The orc threw Rivera one last glare before turning to face the elderly woman addressing the group. She was regal in bearing, her hazel eyes scanning the gathered aspirants. Her white hair was tied neatly into a bun.

"I am Professor Crow," she began. "You all know why you're here. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Beyond that door is a room filled with dragon eggs, each attended by caretakers who will not hesitate to feed you to an adult dragon if you harm one."

The crowd murmured uneasily, but the professor continued. "The process is simple. Enter the room, walk among the eggs, and let one choose you. You will know when it does. Remember, the dragon chooses the rider. Do not attempt to force destiny. Understood?"

A chorus of agreement rippled through the group.

"Good. We'll go one at a time. Elden White, you're first."

A blond boy with a nervous expression stepped forward. His yellow eyes darted around as he approached the door, hesitating briefly before stepping inside. The door shut firmly behind him.

Rivera used the opportunity to survey the others. Among them was a dwarf—short and stout with rosy cheeks and a thick braided beard. His bald head gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the windows. Rivera smiled faintly; her mother's lessons in history and culture paid off in moments like these.

The door opened again, and Elden stepped out, a pale blue dragon hatchling perched on his shoulder. Its slitted eyes scanned the crowd, its scales glinting like shards of ice.

"Hassan Debron..." Another kid, with dark skin, dirty brown hair and brown eyes, stepped forward as he was also ushered into the room.

One by one, the others were called in until it was Rivera's turn.

Her palms were damp as she approached the door, which now loomed impossibly large. As she reached for the handle, it swung open on its own, revealing rows of glowing eggs.

"Don't be afraid. Move closer to the eggs," a soft voice instructed.

Rivera turned to see a human standing nearby, her angular features seeming soft. Nodding, Rivera stepped forward.

The eggs varied in size and color, some shimmering like jewels, others matte and unassuming. Rivera's gaze lingered on a large golden egg with a single red dot at its top. It pulsed faintly, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She shook herself free of its allure and moved on. It didn't feel like hers.

Then she felt it—a pull, subtle but insistent. Her gaze swept the room until it landed on an egg with a deep blue shell speckled with violet spots, like a cluster of stars against a night sky.

Rivera reached out, her fingers brushing the shell's warm surface. The egg shuddered, cracks splintering across its surface. A blue dragon's head popped out. Its shade so dark, it was almost black. Rivera helped the hatchling pull at the shell, giving the little one space to come out. With its body full out of its shell, she marvelled as he saw the dragon fully. Its—her, she was female. Her scales weren't just a midnight blue, she had tiny white specs like a sky full of stars. A sharp nip at her fingers was the last thing she felt before darkness claimed her.

Memories of the Years Before the Reaving

Télos crouched in the tall grass, his mismatched eyes locked on a stag drinking from a stream. His bow was steady, the arrow poised for a clean kill. Years of hunting had taught him precision—one shot to the heart, and the animal would die swiftly.

But as he released the arrow, the stag bolted. The shot pierced its left flank, but it wasn't enough to bring it down.

"Oh no, you don't," Télos muttered, breaking into a sprint.

The stag's blood trail glistened under the fading light. Télos nocked another arrow, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. This time, he aimed with an edge of fury, letting his anger guide the shot. He felt a thrill in his veins before the arrow left his hand.

The arrow flew faster than it should have, striking the stag squarely behind the skull. It collapsed instantly.

As Télos approached his kill, his breath hitched. The arrow and the stag's wound were encased in ice. His bow, too, was coated in frost where his hand had gripped it.

Fear gripped him. He wiped the frost from his bow and buried the evidence, his thoughts racing. Magic wasn't supposed to manifest this way—not in him. These magical outbursts were becoming more frequent than he liked.

He staggered back in shock. This wasn't supposed to happen to him. Desperation clawed at him as he unsheathed his dagger and swiftly beheaded the stag, throwing it aside. Gran couldn't know.

Dragging the kill to join the other game he had acquired, Télos worked methodically, slicing it open and ensuring everything was properly prepared for the journey back to the village. Satisfied that his haul would survive the trip, he bundled it all into a large bearskin and tied it securely.

His thoughts, however, refused to quiet. The frozen stag haunted him. He knew frustration and anger could spark the unexpected, but why had the thought of losing a stag ignited such fury? He had more than enough game to feed half the village.

The idea of magic made his stomach churn. Repulsed, he clenched his fists, but as soon as he felt his fingers grow cold, he forced himself to let go of the thought. His mind wandered to Gran, who always spoke of magic as though it were as natural as breathing.

"You're a magic user," she'd say, pointing at his mismatched eyes. "A gift, not a curse."

But Télos had never believed her. Magic was chaos, destruction. Trusting it was a fool's errand.

Shaking his head, he pushed the notion away and focused on his journey. Soon enough, the sight of his village came into view. Excitement warmed his chest. He'd see Gran soon.

As he neared the gates separating Transia from the forest, he heard voices—Pavi and Manti arguing.

"I told you Télos took the last piece of meat!" Manti said.

"Don't be stupid," Pavi snapped. "He's been out hunting!"

"Hey Télos, is that you?" Pavi's voice broke through their squabble.

"No, Pavi, it's the stolen meat coming back to haunt you," Télos called back dryly.

Manti clambered down from the guard post, grinning. "Why'd you take it, Télos?"

"Stop being ridiculous," Pavi said. "He's just returned from his hunt."

"That can't be true, if he's just returning, why are they preparing a celebration for him?" Manti said.

That caught Télos' attention.

"You really are dense," Pavi groaned. "Vieira's going to have your head for saying that."

"What celebration?" Télos asked.

"Go find out yourself," Pavi replied, shaking his head.

Télos didn't waste time. He hurried past the gates, ignoring the cheerful greetings of villagers. Something felt off. As he neared Gran's hut, he noticed the sound of shuffling feet—dozens, maybe even a hundred. Probably Gran invited the children for a story time. But why was it so quite inside?

Frowning, he pushed the door open, only to be met with a loud cheer.

"Happy birthday!"

The hut was packed with familiar faces. Gran approached, her silver eyes gleaming with affection and mischief. Using her cane for support, she patted Télos on the head.

"Welcome home, son." She smiled. "Fredrick, take his load to the storeroom and organize the boys."

A young boy dashed forward, just ten-years but muscles were beginning to show on his lean arms due to working on the fields.

"You're growing up, Fred," Télos noted with a smile.

"Vieira's teaching me swordplay," Fredrick said, proudly carrying the bearskin bundle away.

As Télos looked around, his gaze fell on Vieira, who emerged from the crowd with her usual confident stride.

"You actually showed up," she teased.

"I missed you too, Vieira. How's work at the forge?"

"Still better than your humor, Tee."

"Don't call me that, Ira."

"Enough bickering, children," Gran's voice rang out. "Compose yourselves—we have guests."

Télos sighed. "You know I hate birthdays. Why would you and Gran do this?"

"Because you deserve it," Vieira said, her eyes narrowing. She leaned closer, studying his mismatched gaze.

"Your eye—it's glowing."

Télos didn't wait for an explanation. He bolted from the hut, his feet carrying him instinctively to the one place he felt at peace. There was no way he'd be having another outburst in Gran's hut.

When he stopped, he found himself at the familiar clearing—a secluded stream surrounded by trees, with a grave marking the resting place of his mother. He crouched by the water, staring at his reflection. His face was smudged with dirt, but his eyes—one pale blue, the other an inky black—were clear.

Gran called them a gift, but they felt like a curse.

"Télos," a soft voice broke his thoughts. He turned to see Vieira, her expression unusually solemn.

"I'm sorry," she said, sitting beside him. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did."

"It's fine," he murmured. "It's just… been a lot."

Vieira punched his shoulder playfully as she took a sit beside him. "Am I still your best friend?"

"No," he teased, earning another punch that made him laugh. "Okay, fine, you are. Happy now?"

Her bear hug was awkward and crushing, but Télos didn't mind. Resting his head against hers, he squeezed her arm lightly—a silent promise that they'd always be there for each other.