Page 22 of Tempest Awakening

"Your impertinence tests my patience, boy," he snarled. "You will not question my authority. You will not deviate from my commands. You are an Ellesar, and you will act like it."

As he spoke, he struck me again, his fist impacting my ribs with a sickening crunch. I heard rather than felt the bone give way,a sharp exhalation of breath the only outward sign of the agony that radiated from the point of impact.

I dropped to one knee, gasping for air that refused to come. My father's boots came into view, each step he took echoing in the hollow chamber of my mind. He was the embodiment of everything I loathed—tyranny cloaked in the guise of nobility, oppression masquerading as order.

"Do not forget your place," he snarled, standing over me like a conqueror surveying his vanquished foe.

In that moment, I hated him with a passion that burned brighter than the sun. But I also understood him in a way that few did. His strength was also his weakness—his unyielding nature would be his downfall. And as I knelt there, broken and bleeding, I vowed silently that I would be the one to bring about his end.

I would dismantle his legacy, brick by bloody brick.

With a monumental effort, I pushed myself to my feet, using the wall for support. My father watched me, a contemptuous sneer twisting his lips.

"Clean yourself up," he spat. "I won't have you looking like some common street thug."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving me alone with my pain and my resolve.

I made my way to the guest bathroom, my movements stiff and measured. As I caught sight of my reflection, the full extent of the damage became apparent—a deep cut above my eyebrow, my eye already beginning to swell shut, my lip split and bleeding.

I reached for the healing potion, the liquid bitter. I drank it down, feeling the bones knit together and the wounds close.

But some wounds were not so easily healed. The scars my father left on my body would fade, but the ones he etched into my soul would remain forever.

Once the immediate pain subsided, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror was one of resolve. I couldn't allow my father's cruelty to break me; instead, it would be the fire that forged me into something stronger. With a deep breath, I straightened my posture and prepared to face the rest of the evening.

I left the guest bathroom and made my way to the Dormitory Building's dining hall. Despite the richness of the room's decor, with its elaborate crystal chandeliers and intricate tapestries, the setup was almost utilitarian. Long banquet tables stretched across the room, and dragon rider applicants shuffled through the buffet line, picking up their evening meals.

It had been a month since the applicants had arrived, two hundred hopefuls from across the supernatural spectrum, all vying for the chance to bond with a dragon.

The air was thick with tension; we all knew that by mid-October, a third of us would be sent home after the first Guild Trial. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on us, driving us to push harder in our training, to excel in our classes on magical theory and dragon lore.

I joined the line, recognizing a group of applicants ahead of me—rivals in every sense of the word. They exchanged furtive glances.

One of them, a burly applicant named Jareth, turned to face me, his eyes narrowing. "Fancy seeing you here, Ellesar," he sneered. "I suppose having the Lord Protector for a father gets you straight to the front of the line, doesn't it?"

I maintained my composure, my voice even. "It doesn't matter who your parents are, Jareth. What matters is being the best."

A ripple of begrudging acknowledgment passed through the group, and they made no further attempt to provoke me. With my tray laden with food, I made my way through the dining hall, my eyes scanning for a familiar face.

It wasn't hard to spot Mason, even if he wasn't at our usual table. At 6'6", with shoulders broad enough to make even the largest applicants look small, my friend stood out in any crowd. His dark brown skin gleamed under the chandelier light.

As I approached, Mason's keen eyes flicked over me, his expression subtly shifting. He leaned closer, his deep, gruff voice low. "Rough day?"

I gave a tight smile. "You could say that. Took quite a hit during training."

Mason's eyebrow arched skeptically. He didn't press further, but his eyes said he wasn't buying it. "I heard the library just hired a human. Any truth to that?"

I nodded, grateful for the change in topic. "Yes. She'll be spearheading the Oral History Project." I carefully avoided mentioning her name, recalling the way my body had responded to her golden-brown eyes meeting mine.

Mason's eyes lit up with interest. "A human, huh? I have a soft spot for their kind. They're often more... unpredictable."

I chuckled. "You'd enjoy her company, then. She seems to have a quiet strength about her."

"Speaking of unpredictable," Mason grinned, launching into a story about his latest training mishap. I found myself relaxing,trading quips and anecdotes with easy familiarity. As our laughter died down, a comfortable silence settled between us.

"I checked on your sister earlier," I said, my voice lowering. "She's doing well, though her enthusiasm for her studies remains... selective."

Mason's expression softened. "Thanks, Kane. I appreciate you looking out for her."

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