All the famous dragon riders of the time were immortalized in the history books. Their stories were taught from the moment children learned to read, especially to those who dared to dream of becoming dragon riders themselves. Names like Colton Morrow, Ace Soce, and Draco Novak echoed through the halls of every academy, whispered with a mixture of reverence and envy. But there was one gring thing they all shared: they were all male.
It was infuriating. Decades—centuries even—and not a single female name stood beside theirs. Women were pushed toward the medics’ tents, expected to patch up wounds rather than wield their strength on the front lines. They were relegated to supporting roles, shadows behind the so-called “heroes.” But that wasn’t the point she wanted to make right now.
Colton Morrow was the most legendary of them all, the golden boy of dragon riders. Hailing from the illustrious Morrow family, a bloodline where every member was bonded to a dragon, the battlefield was practically their birthright. Colton didn’t just meet those expectations; he shattered them. His dragon had gifted him with the rare duality of lightning and storm powers, an ability seen only once every few centuries. When he soared into battle, the very sky seemed to rage in his wake, as if nature itself bowed to his power.
Then there was Ace Soce, feared for more than just his dragon—the second-rgest beast in the nation. Ace wielded telekinesis, turning distant objects into lethal projectiles with ease. Unlike Colton, Ace had cwed his way up from nothing. His relentless training, paired with raw talent, propelled him into the ranks of the elite. His story gave hope to those who didn’t have prestigious bloodlines paving their way.
Lastly, there was Draco Novak, a descendant of Viking warriors. As sturdy as the ancient stones of his homend, Draco possessed the power of regrowth. It wasn’t a fshy, destructive gift, but it was indispensable. When winters turned cruel and food dwindled, his power ensured survival. Though his presence on the battlefield wasn’t as overtly commanding, Draco became a savior, and his abilities proved just as vital as those of any soldier.
But she wasn’t telling these stories for no reason. They were about to collide with her own fate.
The heavy oak door to the administrators' office loomed ahead, its surface scarred by centuries of cw marks and soot stains. The brass handle was cold under her fingers as she pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest, as though they shared her dread. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, dragon-hide bindings, and the faint acrid tang of lingering smoke. Dark-paneled walls lined the room, portraits of past riders staring down with silent judgment, their eyes following her every movement.
Two administrators sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, their expressions as stern and immovable as stone. Each wore the academy’s deep crimson robes, with the golden insignia of a dragon in flight embroidered across their chests. They looked like relics from another era—preserved in power, untouched by time.
But it wasn’t the administrators who seized her attention. No, it was the man standing to the right of the desk, a face she’d never seen in person but one she knew all too well. Colton Morrow. His very presence filled the room, an invisible weight that pressed down on her.
He stood tall, his posture a perfect bance of ease and readiness, like a coiled storm cloud waiting to unleash. His flight leathers were fitted and worn, the supple bck hide molding perfectly to his powerful frame. Faint scars of lightning traced down his forearms, barely visible beneath his sleeves. His dark eyes—nearly bck, like storm clouds ready to burst—studied her with detached curiosity, his expression carefully neutral.
A lock of wavy brown hair fell over his forehead, softening the sharpness of his features. But it was the tattoo peeking out from beneath his colr that caught her attention—the jagged bolt entwined with a dragon’s tail, the mark of the Morrow family.
For a moment, the world tilted. Colton Morrow. Standing here. Looking at her.
He cleared his throat, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, that didn’t take long,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, tinged with amusement.
She swallowed hard, forcing her gaze away from him. The administrators’ eyes were hawk-like, watching her every reaction. Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “What’s going on here?”
The administrators exchanged a gnce—silent, calcuting. The pause stretched, thickening the air. Finally, Administrator Thorn, the eldest of the two, leaned forward, his gray beard brushing the desk. His voice was low and deliberate. “Colton will be training you personally. Effective immediately.”
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Training? With Colton Morrow? Her eyes darted back to him, searching for any hint of a joke. But his gaze remained steady, unreadable.
“You’ll be expected to learn from him,” Thorn continued. “Observe his skills. Adapt them to your bond with Leviathan.”
Her heart pounded, each beat echoing like a war drum. She barely heard the next part.
“You will also undergo combat training with him.”
A groan slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Her eyes rolled skyward in frustration, and she immediately regretted it when Thorn’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. She coughed, muttering, “Fine.”
Colton chuckled, the sound low and infuriating. “She seems excited about this,” he drawled, his smile widening into something that made her want to punch it off his face.
“We’re also adjusting your css schedule,” Thorn said, his voice final. “Expect changes.”
She stiffened. “What kind of changes?”
No answer. Instead, Thorn stood and gestured toward the door, signaling the conversation was over.
With a sharp turn, she headed for the door, her jaw clenched. The door seemed miles away, and Colton’s presence trailed her like a shadow she couldn’t escape. His boots echoed hers as they descended the cold stone staircase, the air brushing against her face. The ancient stones beneath their feet were worn smooth by centuries of dragon riders passing through, their whispers now merging with the ones that lingered behind her.
Other students stopped mid-step, their eyes widening as they took in the sight of Colton Morrow walking behind her. Whispers ignited, a flurry of questions and specution crackling through the air.
At the bottom of the staircase, she felt the weight of each step press into her bones. The shadows cast by flickering torches danced on the walls, their jagged silhouettes mirroring the turmoil inside her. The echoes of boots—hers and his—rang out, a sharp rhythm in the otherwise quiet corridor.
Just when she thought the silence might return, Colton’s voice sliced through the air like a bde. “Training starts at 5 a.m. Just before sunrise.”
She froze mid-step, spine straightening involuntarily. The words hit harder than any punch. 5 a.m.? A disbelieving scoff bubbled up in her chest, but she swallowed it down. Who did he think he was? Oh right. Colton Morrow. The most renowned dragon rider of their generation. The man whose very name bent expectations like the sky bends before a storm.
Indignation fred in her cheeks, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to let him see it.
He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, exuding confidence like a second skin. The torchlight caught the edges of his dark eyes, making them glimmer with a mischievous glint. His expression was maddeningly composed.
“I’ll need confirmation you heard me,” he said, his tone infuriatingly smooth, like a calm sea hiding a riptide beneath.
She clenched her jaw. He wanted confirmation? Fine.
“Yes,” she bit out, each word cold as steel.
His lips curled into a smirk—a subtle, arrogant thing that made her want to wipe it off his face. He knew this wouldn’t be easy for either of them. Maybe that’s exactly why the administrators had chosen him.
They walked in tense silence until they reached the heavy oak door of her chambers. The wood was marred with deep grooves from centuries of riders, each mark a silent testament to their struggles. She turned to face him, the chill of the corridor seeping into her skin. The flickering torchlight cast jagged shadows across his sharp features, making the lines of his face look both elegant and dangerous.
“I’m assuming they gave you your own room?” Her voice was steady, but the edge in it was undeniable.
His dark eyes softened just a fraction, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile. “They did.”
For a heartbeat, they stood there, caught in a silent standoff. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her door, the worn metal biting into her palm.
She pushed the door open with a deliberate swing, the hinges creaking in protest. The warm light from her quarters spilled out, starkly contrasting the cold tension in the hallway. She looked at him, her gaze unwavering.
“Then go.”
He didn’t budge. His eyes held hers, searching for something, anything in her eyes—or maybe daring her to look away first. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low and precise.
“5 a.m. Don’t forget.”
Exhaustion, frustration, or maybe sheer disbelief flickered across her face, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her waver.
“I won’t.”
His eyes lingered on hers a moment longer before he finally stepped back. The small gap between them felt like a reprieve, and she seized it, quickly closing the door. The wood met the frame with a solid thud, followed by the satisfying click of the tch.
The barrier was thin—just inches of wood—but in that moment, it felt like a fortress. She let out a slow breath, leaning against the door. Her mind spun with everything that had just happened. Colton Morrow. Training. 5 a.m. The words swirled like storm clouds ready to unleash.
She rubbed her temples and pushed off the door, the soft glow of her chambers easing some of the tension in her shoulders. The room was modest but familiar—a sanctuary of dark wooden walls, shelves lined with books, and the faint scent of dragon scales and leather. Her boots thudded softly on the thick rug as she crossed the room, stripping off her flight leathers. The worn leather creaked in protest.
Her reflection stared back at her in the full-length mirror. The scars crisscrossing her skin—pale lines over dark tattoos of spider lilies—were silent reminders of what she had endured, of lessons learned the hard way. Her fingers traced a particurly jagged scar over her ribs, the memory of searing pain fring briefly before she pushed it aside.
She closed her eyes and reached inward, extending her senses to seek the steady, powerful presence of Leviathan. The connection sparked to life, sending a deep, resonant pulse through her mind, wrapping around her like molten iron. The world around her faded into the background, repced by the familiar warmth of his essence, a presence that felt as natural as her own breath.
"Leviathan," she murmured through the bond, her voice wavering ever so slightly, but her resolve remained unshaken. "I’ll be up at 5 a.m. for training. I don’t know if I’ll need you, but be ready. Please."
A deep, resonant growl reverberated through her mind, vibrating in her bones like a comforting rhythm. It was the sound of acknowledgment, yered with a protective intensity that made her heart swell. She could almost feel the heat of his dark scales against her skin, the ancient power simmering beneath them, just waiting to be unleashed. His reassurance wrapped around her like a warm cloak, filling her with an unspoken promise.
He was ready. He was always ready.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she pulled back from the connection, the warmth lingering even as it began to fade.
Turning toward the bed, exhaustion finally hit her, dragging her down into its heavy embrace. She sank into the mattress, her limbs sore and fatigued, every muscle protesting the day's demands. She stared at the ceiling, watching the flickering shadows cast by the hearth as they danced in endless, shifting patterns. Tomorrow loomed rge in her mind, dark and full of uncertainty, like an approaching storm cloud.
5 a.m.
Colton Morrow.
And the beginning of something she couldn’t yet name, a feeling that stirred in her chest, unfamiliar and unsettling.
