Chapter 2

Dragons

William's perspective

I stared in awe as gusts of wind blew past me and my father. The dragon that flew to us was bigger than our house. I can almost feel its might just by standing near it.

Its bright snow-white scales reflected the sunlight. It opens its massive, beak-like mouth, letting loose a triumphant roar. I could even hear its jaws slamming shut, like a dog chomping down on whatever it could.

It gazed down at me and my father with its blue-azure eyes. Three horns protruded from its head, one going straight back, following the spine, while the other two curved back on the sides, following the lining of the mouth. 

I stare at its remaining body, wings spread out for all to see, as it stands on its hind legs. Each wing has to be about twenty feet long. One flap could send a child rolling for the hills. Its four limbs bared menacing claws that could cut down trees. Its long tail appears to have a block of icicles shaped like a trident, sharpened to the tip, ready to slice whoever was foolish enough to cross the dragon's path.

On the dragon's neck was a harness strapped to a saddle. The saddle was huge, designed for a person to not only sit on and ride but also stand up without the concern of falling.

However, a white knight sits on the saddle, making me assume they are the dragon's rider.

The knight donned shiny white armor, appearing as magnificent as the dragon they rode. This dazzling ensemble encased him from chest to feet, a spectacle of white metal bound by ornate clasps of gold that snaked around his form. Each piece of armor gleamed with purpose and intent. Streaks of vibrant red traced the contours of his armor, emboldening the edges of his shoulder guards, forearms, and leg plate, bleeding down to his armored greaves. An intricately designed armored skirt fanned out from his waist, safeguarding the joints that the rigid plates above could not, ensuring seamless protection.

Underneath that armor was a fabric of silk or leather, white like their armor but skin tight, designed in a scale-like pattern. I could see no ounce of what I considered everyday clothing—no wrinkles, no nothing.

But I didn't care. I knew who they were. Especially when he wasn't wearing a helmet.

Without waiting another second, I shouted, "Barren," as I ran past my father to the dragon.

The dragon lowered its neck so Barren could hop off. As he climbed off, I saw Barren's blonde hair combed back neatly like usual, and I saw he had been trimming his beard. It looks far more elegant than the last time I saw him, two years ago.

That made me more excited that he took my advice. I can't believe he listened.

His dark blue eyes matched his facial hair, accentuating a scar on his cheek. The scar didn't do anything good for his looks in my mind, but I can easily believe all the noble women would be so captivated by him. His face was rugged, but you could still see his nobility behind it all.

I watch him caress his dragon's neck, sliding his hand to its snout as he approaches me.

The dragon groans, managing to move its beak-like mouth somehow, almost like it is speaking in a foreign tongue.

"William!" Barren said to me, baring his perfect teeth in a big smile.

I always hate his perfect teeth. "How's it been, you squirt?"

I charged at him as I swung my arm at him. "A lot stronger and faster than before!" Barren laughed as he sidestepped out of the way from me.

I gritted my teeth and smiled as I kept swinging at him. Each punch I threw was broad and heavy, which Barren took full advantage of as he kept dodging.

"Stand Still!"

Barren and I always "sparred," or that's what he calls it. We always horsed around ever since I wanted to be just like him, a Dragon Knight.

Chuckling loudly, Barren spoke, "Last time you punched me, you knocked the wind out of me." Spinning around me, evading my last wide punch, he pushes his back against me. I felt the cold metal plating of his armor against my back as I fell over. "And I was wearing armor too!"

The next thing I knew, Barren shoved me to the ground as he chuckled. I laughed as I heard my father approaching, snickering in amusement. I sat back up, resting on my knees as I tried to recover from exhaustion.

The running, jumping, and carriage pulling I did must have made my body far more fatigued than I realized.

I was so excited to see Barren and his dragon that I forgot all about it. 

Finally, I looked up and saw his dragon in front of me. It moved its lips in as I made a groaning sound as if it were speaking to me.

"I miss you too, Lady Elrid." I watch her stand tall on both legs, looking proud and dignified as she speaks again.

Seeing Elrid again brought me a sense of joy. I would always play with her when I was growing up.

Or, to be more specific, I would talk to her and assume what she would say. Then, there were times I climbed up her tail, and she would swing me around.

Once, I even got onto her saddle and pretended to ride her through the clouds. She, however, only walked around. From what I understand, dragons are prideful and would only ride with one person. I was an exception to Elrid, or that's what I tell myself.

"She says she's glad to see you have grown stronger." Barren spoke for her as he and my father approached each other.

I knew well that dragons understand what we say, but only their rider can understand what their dragon is saying.

"It's been a while, Gwyn, my old friend."

"It has been, Sir Barren," my father replied as he approached Barren, extending his arm to him as Barren reciprocated, latching their hands onto each other's forearms. My father gave him a bright smile.

I couldn't hear much of what they were saying, and I didn't care. Lady Elrid has lowered her snout, allowing me to scratch her. I felt her smooth, white scales press against my hands as I rubbed and scratched her snout.

From what I was told, Barren helped my father when he first arrived in Hearthglen with me. In return, my father helped the town with its monster problems, since most adventurers don't come to this city.

I don't remember anything back then. Father said I was only two when we came to Hearthglen, right after my mother passed. Thinking about her made me mad.

Mad at the Blight, specifically. It was my reason why I wanted to be just like Barren.

I managed to overhear my father telling Barren about my little chase, which made him laugh. "To think you were close to catching a heraraptor with your bear hands." Barren approached me and patted my shoulder. "You make a fine Dragon Knight if you can reach that level as a Rider."

"You mean it?" My eyes widen in excitement. My goal was to become a dragon rider, especially a Dragon Knight. Maybe even a Titan Rider.

"Of course," Barren responded sincerely. Now let me help you and your old man with your carriage. I don't want you to hurt your back, old man." I muffled a giggle, watching Barren as he walked back to Lady Elrid, hopped onto her neck, and mounted the saddle.

Father scoffed at him, making a big smirk. "Old man? I'm only 38."

"Not with those wrinkles." Barren chuckled as Lady Elrid stood back up. Barren rode her as she approached the carriage, grabbing it with her front arms and taking off as gusts of wind from her wings almost swept me off my feet.

I looked back up to see Barren and Lady Elrid carrying the carriage full of all the game my father and I had gathered from our hunt. Getting back up, I watched them fly to the city. Almost bursting with excitement, I gave a big smile, almost like a child about to scream after getting a puppy.

"You hear that, Father!" I yell out as I jump over to my father, almost jumping out of my shoes. "He said I'd make a fine dragon knight!"

Father puts me in a headlock as he starts to dig his knuckles into my head, making me squirm and wiggle as pain jolts throughout my scapel. "You will be a fine rider if you can pass my training," my father retorts as he continues to keep me in a headlock, delivering his painful treatment to my head as I manage to wiggle out. "And don't forget that Sir Barren may be Knight Commander of the Riders; he isn't a Matriarch. Only they can ensure one can be a rider."

"I know, I know," I replied, knowing what my father says is true.

But still, the Knight Commander himself told me I would be a fine knight. That's enough to tell me that I'm making good progress. It has to be.

"But don't you think it would be time, though? If Lord Knight Commander Barren says I'll be fine, then surely that means I'm good enough."

"No, you're not ready yet," my father retorted immediately. My mouth was agape in shock and disbelief as I watched him follow the path to the city, brushing my opinion off. "You haven't completed our deal yet."

"Come On! That's not fair!" I yelled at him. "I've done everything you asked. I've done your weird training! I've pushed your carriage around for years! I've done your hunting trips! What more do you want me to do besides catch your damn lizard?"

My father turned around and approached me. His steps were fast, heavy, and intimidating. But I stood my ground. I wasn't afraid. I wasn't. I've done so much to prove to him that I'm ready—everything he asked for, even the bizarre magic training he made me do.

As he got closer and closer, I felt my confidence fade, my heart pounding as I tripped over my feet, stumbling back as I landed on the ground.

I tried to recover, but my father grabbed my arm and yanked me off the ground.

"This is why. You're reckless and impatient, quick to outburst, and for many other obvious reasons." I yanked my arm out of his hands, annoyed and angry at his words.

I yelled to the sky, walking off to the city as I kicked a mound of dirt clear off the ground. 

We have a job to do. We still have to turn in the animal bodies to the guild. Just because Knight Commander Barren took it from us doesn't mean we are done.

20 minutes later

I looked up at the mountain, walking towards the Northern Gate of the city, which lies south of the Zarmen Forest. The same forest where my father and I go hunting. 

The Zarmen Forest is next to the farmlands that help the city and country thrive for food. It's not the only place where Drakelene gets its food, but it is the only place I knew.

Staring at the gatehouse, which consisted of two massive, sturdy brick hexagon-like towers connected through an archway-looking gate. The towers are linked to the walls that encircle the entire city, extending to the mountain. The armed guards stand ready with swords and rifles on each tower and walkway above the gate. Some parts of the old brick walls were covered in moss. Windows line the building, and the roof of each window is covered in shingles, most likely intended for protection from aerial attacks.

The gate itself is open, but I can see the sharp metal points of the gate protruding from the brick-arching walkway between the two towers.

I approached the gate, passing it as my father tailed me from behind. He smacks the back of my head.

"Stop with the brooding; it doesn't suit you," my father chuckles as he finds my silent nature amusing.

"I'm pissed."

"Of course you're pissed. That doesn't mean you should let what I said or happened to you eat you alive from the inside. Or you will always find yourself always angry." I stopped walking and watched my father walk past me. "Instead, find ways to improve yourself. You're still doing what I told you to do with your magic, yes?"

"Of course I am," I groan annoyingly. "It's the only thing you taught me relating to magic. Or even allow!" I raise my voice at him.

Magic exists, and I couldn't even use it. All because my father doesn't teach me anything else but channeling.

Easier said than done, however. I was humiliated by a stupid lizard. I was so close to completing my training, only for it to be squandered, and then I fell over embarrassingly, trying to stand up to him. I'm only glad that Barren didn't have to see that.

Trying to be all good and cheery isn't something I could just do now, especially with my father's training. At least teach me something about magic besides channeling.

Channeling is a magic skill widespread throughout the world of Kalos. It's the basic of the basic. Everyone can do it. It's just pouring magic into parts of one's body or items that allow one to enhance one's physical abilities or to enchant items with special effects if one knows how.

But all he teaches me is channeling throughout my whole body. I want to know why. Is that what he does all the time? Is that how his bow works? Is my father planning on granting me his bow?

My body shivered in excitement at that thought. I could already see myself wielding that bow. Wait, he doesn't teach me how to use bows; he teaches me how to use a sword.

My father turns around at me and smiles. "One day, you'll find out why. And when you do, you like what you learn."

He proceeds to wave at the guards standing at the gate. We knew everyone in the city to some extent. Everyone had to know us. They had to. Ever since my father came to Hearthglen, the farmlands and Zarmen Forest have been cleared of any dangerous monsters that could cause problems, which has helped out merchants, businessmen, and noblemen alike.

I tagged behind my father as he approached a building that resembled a brick mansion, its structure stretching long with two four-story towers at either end, giving it a grandiose appearance. A staircase at the building's front leads up to a second-floor patio, acting as a bridge to the main entrance. This patio extends over the building's rooftop, supported by beams lining the edges of the walkway. Small wooden steps carve a pathway through the patio, directing toward a door that boasts an air of elegance. Below, at the back of the building, our carriage is being unloaded, its presence momentarily ignored by the grandeur above. Flanking the entrance, a flag sways gently, adorned with a symbol of three interlocking triangles, their free sides extending into blades—a heraldic emblem representing the Guild House.

"Stay here," my father said abruptly.

He never lets me inside to see the guild. He always says it is full of lowlifes and thugs. I agree because of what I usually see walking by and because I know about its origins.

The guild, specifically the Adventurers Guild, was formed in Asgard. Drakelene is an enemy of Asgard. Guilds run through all the continents, countries, and kingdoms. Due to Drakelene's animosity toward Asgard, only a few adventurers travel through Drakelene. Plus, any money from the guild in Drakelene is heavily taxed.

Sighing heavily at the thought of my family being poor due to our affiliation with the guild. We do make money from other places, though. Only the monster parts—teeth, hide, horns, and sometimes organs like eyes—are sold at the guild for crafting materials. The body, mainly parts that can be eaten, is sent to the butchery. That's where most of our money comes from, since it's not taxed.

We also get all sorts of herbs and whatnot in the forest, so we spend time collecting coins from other sources, like the alchemists.

It's not much, but we get by. I still remember my father staying in the forest all day as he left me with one of his trusted friends, Aunt Silfe.

Leaning against a pillar that holds up the second floor's patio, I waited patiently. I looked up at the sky, seeing that it was the afternoon. We spent half the day hunting. Sure, my father did all the work, but my main job was to capture the raptor for training and also due to its good price at the market—killing two birds with one stone—or that's what my father says.

As I waited there, I heard the sound of jingling coins and felt a sudden pain in the back of my head. Wincing as I rubbed the little lump forming, I noticed a small brown bag on the ground containing coins. As I extended my arm to pick it up, I heard my father laughing at me.

"Left yourself open again."

Father approaches me as I toss the bag at him. "I was distracted. How much did we make?"

Glaring at him as he lifted his finger up, wearing one big smirk that I wanted to slap off. "Close to a single silver plate. Better than last time."

I sighed out loud at him in disbelief. Could he be any more of a child? A single silver plate isn't much. It takes 100 bronze coins to make a plate, 10 bronze plates to make a single silver coin, 100 silver coins to make a plate, and 10 to make a gold coin. The most we ever got from our hunts was close to two silver plates. That's not even considering the tax.

"Ok." I paused for a moment. "How much do we have after tax?" I had to remind my father. If I didn't, he would go off saying how much money we got, like we had won a bet with a wealthy noble.

His smirking face immediately faded to a look of disgust and disappointment, cringing at the thought of how much he really got. He always does this, always ignoring stuff like this.

The last time we went on a hunt, he forgot his bow. I had to hunt everything by myself, and it was a very long day. My sword even broke, so I had to use my bare hands.

"Two silver coins," he said depressingly.

Two? Two? That's outrageous.

They never took that much. Did they increase the taxes again? What benefit does it give them? I understand that Drakelene isn't allied with Asgard, but the guild was designed for adventurers to collaborate and conquer dungeons or kill high-class monsters at any given time. Or bandits, or, even worse, breeder-class monsters. I can't seem to fathom why Drakelene is so hard on the guild. Especially when the guild helps out every country and kingdom on every continent. So, increasing taxes on adventurers doesn't make sense.

Feeling upset about it, knowing very well that politics and guild stuff are out of my league. 

The only guild-related news I ever heard was about a goblin breeder running around a few years ago. I don't know much about breeders, but I know everyone takes them seriously. I still recall my father telling me that breeder-class monsters are way more dangerous than any kind of monster, regardless of rank. They can create armies of their own kind in a few days. I don't know how, but they themselves are the worst, or that's what my father says.

The last breeder class created an army of ruthless and powerful goblins that laid siege to the kingdom of Liane. Asgard assisted with the war. I even heard about a so-called God of War being born.

His stories and accomplishments spread throughout Kalos. He was said to be a one-man army, fearlessly charging into battle, impaling his enemies with their own weapons that once pieced his own flesh. He was known as the Immortal God of War. There were even rumors that he had slain the Wolf King, although I didn't quite understand the significance of that. What made the king of an ancestral species of dogs so special? But then again, these were all just rumors that I had heard.

I think his name was Arkus or something. Arkus, the God of War.

Looking at my father, he placed his hand on my back, bringing me back to the present as he walked me down the sidewalk. "Come on, Will. The receptionist said our loot should be getting loaded and ready to be sent to Cryken's Butcher Shop."

We continued walking down the sidewalk and ran into many people. Everyone we passed greeted my father, including a few merchants and nobles. I couldn't help but notice some attractive girls among them.

My father, however, smacks my head whenever I look at girls. Always saying, "You're too young to be looking for a lady," or "You're not ready."

I'm 16. What does he mean, I'm not ready?

As I was about to look at a woman, a young nobleman appeared before me. He was slightly shorter than me and had a girlish voice, suggesting he was around twelve. He had black hair styled in a bowl cut and a chubby face with squinty black eyes. He wore a fancy red silky velvet shirt with a white kilt on the left side of his waist. He also wore soft black pants that matched the style of his shirt and three golden bracelets with a red dragon scale on his hand. I then noticed a small creature next to him that caught my attention.

Right next to him was a little dark navy blue dragon, the size of a dog, standing right next to his hip. Its small body was a clear sign that it was still a baby. However, it only had two legs, using its wings to support its walking. Its eyes were dark black. Horns were short and dull at the point but covered the lining of its skull as small, protruding spikes followed down its body to the base of its tail. Its webbed wings were long, like a bat's wings. But much longer due to its body size. I could tell that its wings may surpass Elrid's when it matures more.

"Well, look who we have here?" said the young nobleman, toning a cocky voice as he petted his dragon.

"You must be Lord Dimmal's boy," my father interjected. I scoffed silently. My father knew I hated people who considered themselves high and mighty. Sure, my father always told me to treat everyone with respect, but something about cocky, entitled people just made me so mad. "Donald, was it?"

Donald Aster. He is the youngest son of Dragon Lord Dimmal Aster. I was friends with Lord Dimmal's eldest son, Bide. Aunt Silfe looked after us both when both of our parents went away.

The boy spat on the ground, "That's Sir Donald to you. After all, I am now an esteemed Dragon Rider." Grinning with confidence, Donald's dragon squealed us along with a sharp hissing noise. "Feel free to bow before me."

Rocks fell off the rooftops as another dragon appeared, grabbing our attention. It was huge. One wing almost covered a whole building. It was, however, not as big as Elrid. It looked almost identical to Donald's dragon. Donning sharp blue scales, its horns sharpen to the point, with golden ornaments ringing around each horn. One clear difference between Donald's dragon and this one was the long scar down its right eye. Its eye was fine, but the scar is there, and it ain't fading soon.

Shocked to see it peaking over the rooftops, I figured it was resting up there. Conveniently, the buildings and the roof were designed to handle the weight of most dragons. Anything close to a Matriarch, you were asking for a miracle.

Most dragons tend to leave cracks on most of the buildings; luckily, we have magic to help with the damage.

"That's enough, Donald."

We all looked at the blue dragon as a knight dropped off its neck, landing before us. He stood up straight, his long navy blue hair waving in the soft breeze. His sharp face gave a strong impression, and his black eyes displayed his every intent. Staring at the knight, he stood almost the same height as my father. His armor was spectacular, donning a long navy zipped-up tunic with leather armor padding on the sides of his chest. His shoulder plating, which covers his entire shoulder and upper arm, was bright silver, curving away from the body along with gauntlets that covered the forearm and the top of his hand, wrapping around his palm. A few leather belts were strapped down to his waist, with bags and pockets sewn into the belt itself on the side to avoid misplacements or distractions. His pants also had leather padding, except around the shins and boots, which sported a nice silver touch as his shoulder plates did. Dangling off the belt was his one-handed, long sword, ready to be pulled.

If only I could see his sword's beauty. 

"Good afternoon, Lord Dimmal," my father told the knight.

Bide often spoke about his father, but I never got the chance to meet him. Lord Dimmal was renowned for his role as a scout. He and his dragon were known for flying fast and deep, despite his dragon's size, into enemy territory, regardless of whether it was plagued by Blight or not. In fact, I even heard that he killed a Blight Rider when he was just a Dragon Rider.

"Afternoon, Mr. Hunter," Lord Dimmal replied, bowing with such elegance that I was surprised a noble like him even showed us.

"Father! Don't show such grace before them," Donald protested.

"Quiet. I won't have you sullying our family name. Don't let yourself be swayed just because you finally have your dragon." Lord Dimmal wasn't happy. Based on what I've heard from Bide and what I'm seeing now, I like him a lot more. Bide spoke about how people often praise Lord Dimmal's kindness and how he always shows grace to people.

First, I'm surprised to hear that Donald is Dimmal's child. They don't resemble each other at all. Donald may be adopted, or his mother is a big woman, but he's still young, so maybe it's just baby fat. Who knows? However, I'm curious about his attitude. Bide was never as cocky as Donald is.

"Isn't it true that younger riders are easier to be influenced by their dragon?" I spun around, glaring at my father for thinking of speaking out such an idea.

"Daad!" My tongue slipped. Accidentally, I said dad instead of father. I can feel my face start to warm up. How embarrassing. "Don't say such things."

How can he say such a thing? There's no way a dragon can influence its rider. It's an equal partnership. No one can control or influence the other. Everyone knows that, and such a thing goes against the Order of Drake.

Drakelene follows the Order of Drake, the religion of all riders and dragons. Becoming a rider means pledging loyalty to the Matriarch, who lays the foundation of eggs for the dragons and is a lifeline to their deity, Omara, the Dragon God of Souls.

Lord Dimmal raises his hand at me. "It's alright, young Hunter. As bluntly as you put it, Mr. Hunter, yes, younger riders tend to be more swayed by their connection to their dragon.

Seriously? How? Wouldn't that undermine the Order? I swear it states that dragons and humans shall live and work together to conquer all who would threaten our home and the Order. Not one shall rule over the other.

"Younger riders tend to be more curious and open-minded, making it easier to influence their behavior and ideas," Lord Dimmal tells my father.

Seriously?

"I think that's just how kids are; I mean, how else are they supposed to learn anything if they have a thick skull?" My father responded with a loud chuckle.

I felt targeted. "Hey!" I yelled at him. I could almost feel his eyes glaring into me.

Donald scoffs as he turns around and leaves. "I'm perfectly fine. My dragon can't even talk yet, so how is he supposed to be influencing me?" Donald's dragon scurries after him, using its wings to pick up its legs for longer strides. Lord Dimmal shakes his head.

"I apologize for my son's behavior."

"It's not a problem, my Lord," my father responded, bowing to Lord Dimmal. I felt my father elbow me in the side, telling me I should bow before him too, so I did.

"You both don't need to bow before me," Lord Dimmal abruptly responded, raising his hands like he was pushing us away. "So, are you planning on attending the Festival of Soul?" I just realized Lord Dimmal's face wasn't as sharp as before. It was as if he just wanted to talk about something that wasn't a thorn in his side.

Before either of us could speak, Lord Dimmal's dragon started climbing down from the rooftop. It used its claws on its wings to grab onto the brick wall, allowing it to slowly descend with such finesse that it seemed only fitting for Lord Dimmal to have such a graceful partner. Guiding its wing around itself like a dress, covering its hide and torso from us. We could only see its long neck as it moved next to Lord Dimmal.

"Many other riders are coming here to celebrate the festival, so the sky should have the Rider's Aurora this year." Lord Dimmal's mention of the Aurora sent my heart to the roof.

"Father, come on, please, just this once. I want to see the Aurora—like the ones the summoned heroes spoke about." I jumped up with excitement and gave my father the best begging face that I could make.

"Stop it! You're scaring me!" My father rubbed the back of his head.

"Sure. Why not?"

We all looked up as dragons filled the sky, howling as they flew across the country.