Page 13 of Of Flames and Fallacies

As far as we can tell from books rescued after the Great War in Vitalis, dragons have roamed the earth for thousands of years. But the first time a human bonded a dragon was centuries ago.

The very first dragon rider.

It’s rumored the first dragon rider had blood of magic and that was why the dragon bonded them. Dragons are especially sensitive to magic, and bonding a human was undoubtedly a massive risk. Bonds between dragon and human far exceed any other emotion. A bond that surpasses love itself. It is ofsacrifice, justice, and the essence of what makes this world good.

But with such a bond, comes a price.

Once bonded, a pair cannot be separated. They become intrinsically one. Shall one die, the other shall too.

The generations before us whispered only elites and those in their blood lines could bond dragons. After Queen Elara and her dragon died, her brother King Aaric took the throne. Under the new King’s order, all dragon riders were captured and executed. The bonds between humans and dragons were severed.

Causing a war between man and dragon.

I turn and steal a glance at Daeja as she frolics through the tall grasses nearby. A blue butterfly floats past her, then circles back and lands on the tip of her nose. Daeja’s eyes widen, and her gaze flicks to me, her stance cautiously rigid.

I give her a reassuring smile, and she looks back at the butterfly, its wings twitching in the breeze. In the blink of an eye, the butterfly lifts off her nose and flutters back through the clearing. Daeja chases after it, her immature wings flaring and disturbing her balance. She topples over then quickly rises again and stumbles as she continues her chase.

I can’t imagine Daeja growing into the gruesome, vicious beast I’ve grown up believing her kind to be.

My thoughts wander to that morning in Padmoor and the man racing down the street. The fire. If dragons weren’t dangerous, why else would the King outlaw them? Especially when his own sister was a dragon rider.

I set down the journal and rub my hands together, breathing warmth into them to melt the sharp sting of cold.

“Stay here,” I tell Daeja as I turn on my heels to find some branches.

She bounces after me—so much for that.

She sniffs around as I collect potential kindling in the darkening forest. A creak and snap from behind me catches my attention. I swivel to find Daeja seesawing toward me, stumbling every few steps with a branch double her length protruding from her jaws. She drops it at my feet.

“Great find, thank you,” I chuckle. Stacking her branch on the pile I have clutched in my hands, we return back to our makeshift camp.

Cole showed me how to start a fire long ago when he lit our fireplace one cold winter. Thereafter, I couldn’t help but request he help almost every winter night. Admittedly, it was an excuse to see him.

The first time we touched was when I tried to replicate him striking a flame. I was miserably bad at doing so. He gathered my hands in his and delicately showed me the motions to create a spark. He flinched at our initial touch. At how cold my hands were in his. He brought my hands up to his lips and breathed on them. My hands warmed, almost as much as my cheeks. When he realized the intimacy of it, he apologized and quickly shifted to explaining that if my hands were too cold it would be hard to grip the stone the right way. At the time, I told myself it made sense.

He couldn’t possibly be interested in me.

As I recall the memory, my heart tumbles down a flight of stairs. Each drop more painful than the last. I miss him. I miss the glowing amber of his eyes that reminds me of a cozy fire on a frigid winter night. His smile like when the sun emerges after a rainstorm. How his heartbeat hums like the rhythm of my own. I’ve always craved every existence of him, whether he was here standing in front of me or tucked into the memories of my mind. But I can only have the latter. It terrifies me that more time will pass and I might forget the shade of red his hair is. Or thepattern of freckles staining his cheeks. Maybe misremembering how he felt pressed against me, when it was just me and him. Here I am, without him. Living in a reality where we said we would never be.

I start breathing into my own hands, warming them before I pick up the rocks. The only thing sparking with each unsuccessful strike is my frustration. Daeja watches me with a tilted head, her head flopping from one side to the other with every scrape.

A small spark flares and bounces over onto the piled branches. My hope rises, before it sinks again as the ember fades.

Daeja creeps forward and nudges the collection of branches, one of them falls to the ground.

“Hey, stop!” I try to pull her back.

She noses my hands away with a chirp, turning back to the branches and opening her mouth. A soft glow burns in her throat, traveling up and out of her mouth in a small spurt. A ball of flame, no bigger than the size of my palm, barrels forward and past the branches. A bush nearby catches fire, and I scramble to throw the water I have in my flask on it. By the time I’ve expelled the fire by smothering the flames with my cloak, I glance over at Daeja who sits near our collection of kindling. Now glowing with fire.

“You did it.” I breathe in relief. Even if she almost caught the rest of the forest on fire. I push away the whispered thought it might have been her that set my home on fire. That she was the reason why my mother died.

Daeja curls into a ball in my lap, and I stretch my hands out across to the fire.

I should destroy the journal. My father specifically wrote to burn it.But my longing for him makes me pause. The journal is all I’ll ever know of him. The last thing I’ll ever have of my heritage.Will it really matter if I keep it when I have a dragonhatchling? Perhaps I can burn it once I’m done reading. Why else would my mother want me to have it?

A loud pop of burning wood splits the air. My heart jumps at the sound. I attempt to level my breathing, struggling to avoid the memory of the raging fire in our home just days ago. Closing my eyes, I shut out the creeping anxiety and delight in the warmth of the fire kissing my skin. My body relaxes with a sigh.

We will live to see another night.

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