Page 22 of Tempest Rising

Theron's office was stark, almost aggressively utilitarian, reflecting his role as someone who valued function over form. The bare stone walls framed a space devoid of personality—no decorations, no mementos. A weapon rack leaned against one corner, its array of blades, staffs, and other tools of combat standing at attention like silent sentinels. At the center of theroom stood a functional wooden desk, its surface dominated by scattered reports, maps, and a single, open ledger.

Two chairs faced each other across the desk; one appeared slightly more worn, undoubtedly his, while the other was positioned for a visitor—plain and uninviting, clearly chosen for necessity rather than any attempt at hospitality.

The door clicked shut behind me, the sound unnervingly final. I stilled for a moment, torn between curiosity and unease, before glancing over my shoulder to find Theron leaning back against the now-closed door, arms crossed over his chest. His piercing green eyes locked onto mine, stark and unyielding, as if he’d stripped away every defense I thought I had.

Without breaking his gaze, he moved toward the desk in two measured strides, gesturing toward the chair opposite his. "Sit," he said, his tone curt, leaving no room for argument. I fought the instinct to bristle, reminding myself I was here for answers—for guidance, even if the man offering it was as approachable as a thunderstorm.

For a moment, I hesitated, eyes momentarily darting toward the weapons in the corner before squaring my shoulders and taking the offered seat. Theron, still watching me, lowered himself into his own chair. The desk between us felt more like a dividing line than an invitation to collaborate.

His gaze lingered a second longer, assessing me in that infuriatingly unreadable way he had, before he turned slightly toward the window, his fingers tapping once on the wooden surface of the desk. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost conversational, but the ever-present edge beneath it remained.

"You'll need allies if you intend to survive as a Dragon Rider," he said, not looking at me but instead at the pale light filtering through the glass. "Our world doesn't favor the lone wolf, no matter how capable they think they are."

I furrowed my brow, unsure of his intent but sensing layers beneath his words I hadn’t yet unraveled. "I’m not alone in this," I said carefully, leaning back in my chair as I met his sidelong glance. "Thalon’s bound to me, for starters."

His lips pressed into a line, his emerald eyes flicking back to me. "Your gargoyle friend—Mason. He seems… close to you," he said. "Trust like that doesn’t come easily. You’d be smart to keep him in your corner."

I resisted the urge to squint at him, but the subtle hint of curiosity in his tone didn’t escape me, even buried under his attempts at seeming merely pragmatic. "Mason and I have known each other for a long time," I replied evenly. "He's more than just in my corner—he's family."

Theron made a small sound, a cross between a grunt and a hum, before leaning back slightly in his chair. His expression, stoic as it was, seemed to tighten for a moment at the corners of his mouth. "Family," he murmured, as if testing the word, rolling it over like it was a foreign concept. Then, after a beat, his tone sharpened. "Sentiment can be a strength, but it can weaken you just as easily. It'll be up to you to keep the line clear."

I tilted my head at him, curiosity sparking despite myself. "Do you always keep that line clear, then?" I asked, my voice gentler than I intended. The way his shoulders stiffened told me I’d struck closer to something real than I’d expected. For a second, I thought he wouldn’t answer.

He rose abruptly, cutting off whatever moment might have lingered between us, his chair scraping softly against the floor. “Follow me,” he commanded, his voice as sharp as a blade cutting through the tense silence.

I blinked, confused. “Where are we going?”

His lips curled into something that resembled a smirk, but it was devoid of warmth. “You want to be a dragon rider, don’t you? Time to prove it.”

I hesitated for a brief second, but the fire in my chest—the one that had been burning ever since Thalon chose me—flared brighter. It silenced my doubts. “Fine,” I said, my voice firm. “Lead the way.”

Theron’s eyes flicked over me, and I could tell he was expecting me to back down. When I didn’t, his smirk widened, though the challenge in his expression remained clear. He turned on his heel, his long strides leading me out of his office and into the winding stone corridors of the Guild.

It was almost surreal thinking about how much had changed since I first stumbled into Theron. I’d been living a nice, safe, normal life. Now, here I was walking side-by-side with a man who seemed to carry the weight of a hundred battlefields, trying to prove I deserved the same title he carried.

If someone had told me a month ago that I’d be preparing for a trial as grueling as this—or that this sharp-tongued, infuriatingly handsome mage would make me question not only my limits but my resolve—I would’ve laughed. Or cried. Probably both.

“Remember Sacramento?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

I had been commuting home from my job at a little restaurant in Sacramento, when a minivan had collided with a jackknifed semi. I'd had to pull over, and Theron had been the Dragon Rider who had shown up to help.

Theron glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrow raised. “Vividly. In fact, how did you end up here?” His question was blunt, his curiosity evident. “When last month you were... well, you weren’t here.”

I could feel his eyes on me, searching for answers. I let out a soft sigh, keeping my gaze ahead as we continued walking.

“After we met... things changed.” I shrugged, trying to keep things vague. “Shortly after we met, well... I ended up without a place to live. So I packed up, hopped in my car, and headed north.”

Theron’s expression remained unreadable, but I could sense a shift in his demeanor. “That was it? Just... a coincidence you found yourself in Drakehaven?”

I smiled, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Something like that.”

He didn’t respond, but I could feel the weight of his scrutiny, the silent judgment lingering in the air between us as we exited the Guild’s main building and crossed the courtyard toward the Arena. The towering stone structure loomed in the distance, its arches stretching toward the sky like the bones of some ancient creature.

Theron finally spoke again as we neared the entrance. “This place isn’t for beginners, you know. Most people need years of training before they even set foot in here.”

I tilted my head, my steps resolute as I followed him through the arched entryway. “Good thing I’m not ‘most people,’ then.”

He gave a soft, humorless chuckle as we stepped into the Arena. Inside, the space opened up into a massive, circular pit, the floor made of smooth, sand-colored stone. Above us, the magical dome shimmered faintly, an ethereal barrier that shielded the Arena from the elements while allowing the dragons to soar freely through it. The air smelled of metal and earth, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the faint screech of a dragon.

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