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Chapter 8: Shadows of the first riders

The hall for the history lecture was colder than the training yard, the stone walls lined with banners so ancient they were nearly colorless. Dozens of recruits filed in, the scrape of boots echoing in the silence. The survivors—those 116 who had clawed their way past fire and fear—sat scattered across long benches.

The air was thick with the smell of soot, sweat, and dragon musk. Above them, dragons lounged on ledges built into the walls, their eyes glowing faintly like stars in the dim chamber.

Elianna took a seat near the middle, Amethyst coiling on the high stone perch above her. She could feel the dragon’s attention pressing into her mind, curious, alert.

A man entered—old, hunched, his hair more white than gray. His robes dragged along the floor like shadows, and his eyes were sharp as flint despite the years carved into his face. He carried no staff, no weapon, yet every recruit sat straighter the moment his presence filled the room.

“I am Master Tharos,” he said, his voice dry as parchment. “You are here because your dragons chose you. But you are ignorant of what that choice means. And ignorance, children, kills more swiftly than steel.”

He gestured, and the banners along the wall flickered with light—enchanted threads coming alive to reveal ancient scenes.

A great dragon, white-scaled and crowned with horns like spires, towered over a kneeling rider. Armies clashed in the background, fire raining down from the sky.

“The First Riders,” Tharos said, his voice heavy with something between reverence and sorrow. “Long before this fortress was stone, before crowns weighed on men’s heads, dragons walked freely among mortals. They chose companions—not masters, never masters—partners to carry their fire into war.”

Whispers stirred among the recruits. Elianna leaned forward, her pulse quickening.

“Some bonds brought peace,” Tharos continued, his gnarled hand lifting toward a banner where a rider and dragon circled a blooming field, enemies laying down weapons in surrender. “But others—” His hand shifted, revealing another scene. Blood. Burning cities. Dragons chained in iron, their mouths bound. “—others brought ruin.”

Amethyst’s voice slid into Elianna’s mind, low and tense. Never trust chains. We remember. Even Shadow remembers.

Elianna blinked, glancing instinctively at Dominic. He lounged a few rows back, Shadow curled like a mountain of black scales above him. His mismatched eyes gleamed in the dim light, fixed not on Tharos, but on her.

The old master’s voice sharpened. “Red dragons, corrupted by ambition, convinced their Riders to claim kingdoms, enslave mortals, and betray the very pact of flame. It was they who sparked the Bonded War—dragon against dragon, rider against rider. Brother slaughtering brother.”

Gasps rippled through the hall.

Tharos’s gaze swept the recruits like a blade. “One truth emerged, written in the blood of thousands: Riders who see themselves as masters, who wield their dragons as weapons rather than walk as equals, always fall. Always.”

From the corner of her vision, Elianna saw Liora shift uncomfortably. Solaris, perched above, flared his wings, showering sparks across the stones. Liora leaned closer and whispered, “Sounds a lot like the way some of the officers here already treat their dragons.”

Elianna nodded faintly. She liked that he saw it too.

Dominic’s low chuckle carried across the benches. “Or maybe it just means you’re too weak to lead.”

Elianna spun toward him, heat rising in her cheeks. “Or maybe it means you’re too arrogant to understand the lesson.”

Shadow’s growl vibrated the walls, a sound deep enough to shake the benches. Amethyst’s hiss cut through the air like glass. Solaris bristled, tail snapping against the ledge.

Dragons clashing, even if only in words, was enough to send several recruits ducking lower in their seats.

“Enough.”

Tharos’s voice cracked like a whip. Dragons stilled instantly, though their eyes still burned. The silence after was suffocating.

“You think this is rivalry?” the old master said coldly. “You think this is clever banter?” His eyes, sharper than any blade, pinned Elianna, Dominic, and Liora each in turn. “The Bonded War began with such arrogance. And it ended with dragon bones littering the fields like seashells on a shore.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words crush the room.

“History is not dust on parchment. It is a warning written in blood. And every one of you is one mistake away from repeating it.”

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As the recruits filed out of the hall in uneasy silence, Elianna’s chest felt tight.

Amethyst whispered, He is right. The bond is sacred. And if Dominic believes otherwise… he will destroy you.

Elianna clenched her fists. She wanted to argue. To deny it. But the look in Dominic’s eyes earlier—the fire, the hunger—made something twist uncomfortably inside her.

And worse than that… was the part of her that wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted him to stop watching her.