The hold was quiet as the morning breeze drifted through its vast tunnels.
One by one, the dragons stirred. A low rumble rolled through the stone caverns as wings shifted and claws scraped against the ancient rock.
Marcellus stood beside a Flame Skipper waiting near the edge of the cavern.
Its wings twitched with restless energy as it pranced in place, sparks flickering faintly from the corners of its mouth each time it exhaled.
Marcellus tightened the final strap on the riding harness, checking the buckles the same way he always did when preparing the dragons.
The Skipper chirped sharply.
"Easy, Cinder," Marcellus said calmly.
The small dragon tilted its narrow head, its molten-gold eyes flickering with restless curiosity. The sparks around its mouth faded as it let out a soft chitter, but its wings still twitched impatiently.
Footsteps echoed across the stone platform behind him.
"Looks like someone's eager to fly."
Marcellus turned as the instructor walked past, leading another Flame Skipper toward the edge of the cavern. The little dragon hopped forward in quick, energetic steps, its wings half spread as it tested the morning air flowing through the hold.
Behind him, another rider followed close behind with a third Skipper.
Three dragons.
Three riders.
The instructor swung into his saddle and nodded toward the morning sky beyond the cavern.
"Are we ready to set out, ladies?" he said, looking back.
"We're ready," the other rider said with a grin. "But are we sure the old man doesn't have to go potty first?"
The instructor snorted as he pulled his goggles down over his eyes.
"You volunteering to wipe my ass?" he shot back,
"Now y'all mount up and let's go," he continued.
Marcellus copied the other rider as they mounted their dragons.
The Flame Skippers hopped toward the edge of the cavern, their claws scraping lightly against the stone as the mountain wind rushed in from the open sky.
Cinder bounced forward eagerly, wings twitching as it followed the others toward the ledge.
The instructor's dragon reached the edge first.
For a brief moment it balanced there, wings spreading wide as the wind roared up from the ocean below.
"Stay close!" the instructor called.
Then they leapt.
The small dragon dropped like a stone before its wings snapped open, catching the rushing air. With a sharp beat of its wings it shot forward into the open sky.
The second rider followed right after, their Skipper diving from the cavern mouth in a blur of red scales and beating wings.
Cinder chirped excitedly.
Before Marcellus could even think, the little dragon sprang from the ledge.
The ground vanished beneath them.
Marcellus felt his stomach lurch as the cavern walls rushed past and the open sky swallowed them whole. For a terrifying moment they simply fell.
Then Cinder's wings spread wide.
The wind caught them.
With a powerful snap of its wings, the Flame Skipper leveled out and surged forward through the cold mountain air.
The world exploded open around them.
The endless ocean stretched across the horizon.
Cinder let out a sharp chirping cry and darted after the other two dragons, weaving eagerly through the rushing wind.
Marcellus tightened his grip on the saddle straps as the little dragon raced forward.
The instructor's Skipper banked slightly, climbing higher into the morning wind. The other rider followed, their dragon gliding smoothly through the currents rising off the cliffs.
"Easy there!" the instructor called over the wind. "Let 'em find the air first!"
Cinder chirped loudly while slowing, falling into line behind the others. Its wings Its wings beat in a steady rhythm, each stroke carrying them higher above the dark stone cliffs and into the open sky.
For the first time since the jump, Marcellus managed to breathe.
The hold was already shrinking behind them, the great cavern mouth now just a dark scar in the mountainside.
"Not bad for your first flight," the other rider shouted, glancing back with a grin.
Marcellus laughed nervously. "Does it always start like this?"
"Pretty much!"
The instructor's voice carried across the wind again.
"Relax into the saddle! Let the Skipper do the work. They know the currents better than you ever will."
Marcellus loosened his grip slightly on the saddle straps.
Cinder's wings settled into a steady rhythm beneath him, each beat smooth and powerful now that the dragon had found the rising currents along the cliffs.
The wind roared past his ears, cold and sharp, carrying the smell of salt from the ocean below.
The cliffs fell away behind them in jagged black walls where waves shattered against the rocks far below.
Cinder chirped softly, tilting its wings to catch a warm updraft rising along the mountain face. The little dragon climbed effortlessly, gliding through the air like a living arrow.
Marcellus felt a grin spread across his face.
Ahead of them, somewhere beyond the endless stretch of ocean and sky, the western mountains waited.
For a long while there was nothing but open water beneath their wings. The steady rhythm of the Flame Skippers filled the air as they glided through the morning currents, the wind rushing past in a constant roar.
Then the instructor raised a hand.
"There," he called.
Marcellus followed his gaze.
At first it just looked like a darker line along the horizon.
But as they flew closer, the shape grew.
Jagged peaks slowly rose from the distant haze, their dark silhouettes cutting into the sky like broken teeth. Massive cliffs climbed straight out of the ocean, walls of black stone battered endlessly by the crashing waves below.
The western mountains.
Even from miles away they looked enormous.
As the dragons carried them closer, deep ravines splitting the mountain faces emerged, with narrow ridges twisted between towering peaks.
Ancient stone structures clung to the cliffs in places, half-carved into the rock itself.
Marcellus leaned forward slightly in the saddle.
Massive arches and shattered towers jutted from the mountainside, their surfaces worn smooth by decades of wind and salt.
The instructor's dragon banked slightly, angling them toward a wide valley cut deep into the mountains.
"Imperium ruins," the other rider shouted over the wind. "Lots of them out here."
Cinder chirped curiously beneath him, its wings adjusting as it followed the others through the rising air currents spilling off the cliffs.
The closer they flew, the larger the ruins became.
Marcellus could see long stone platforms carved into the mountainside, wide enough for dragons to land. Broken watchtowers stood along the ridges like the skeletons of a forgotten war.
The wind shifted as they crossed over the first ridge, warm air rising from the deep valleys between the peaks.
Then Marcellus noticed something else.
Movement.
Far ahead, tiny shapes circled the mountains.
He leaned forward, squinting through the rushing wind.
Several winged shapes glided through the air near one of the larger cliffside structures.
For a moment Marcellus couldn't make out what they were.
Then one of the shapes banked sharply in the sunlight.
Wings.
Dragons.
The instructor's voice cut through the wind.
"Hold formation."
It wasn't shouted.
It was tight. Controlled.
Marcellus glanced toward him.
The older rider was staring hard at the distant shapes circling the mountains.
"Alright," he continued, voice low but firm. "Dive into the valley. Use the mountains for cover."
Cinder reacted before Marcellus could even think.
The small dragon folded its large wings and dipped into a sharp descent, following the instructor's Skipper as it dropped toward the nearest ridge.
Wind screamed past them as the mountains rushed closer.
"Stay tight!" the instructor called over the wind.
The three dragons plunged toward the jagged stone, their wings cutting through the air as they slipped beneath the ridge line.
For a moment the distant riders vanished from view.
Rock walls rose around them as they entered the valley, towering cliffs climbing hundreds of feet on either side.
The wind shifted here, swirling unpredictably through the narrow space between the mountains.
Cinder adjusted its wings, catching the twisting currents with quick, agile movements.
The little dragon darted between two jagged outcroppings, claws skimming dangerously close to the rock.
Marcellus leaned low over the saddle instinctively.
Above them the sky disappeared behind the ridge.
The instructor slowed slightly ahead, guiding his Skipper along the curve of the valley.
"Keep low," he called. "We don't want them spotting us."
Marcellus glanced back.
Beyond the stone walls, somewhere above the mountains, the distant dragons were still circling.
He could hear them now.
Faint.
The deep thunder of wings beating through the air.
The instructor's voice came again, quieter this time.
"Stay low."
No one spoke after that.
The three Flame Skippers slipped deeper into the shadows of the valley, the ancient ruins of the Imperium rising silently along the cliffs around them.
And above the mountains…
Other dragon riders were flying.