"Are you an angel?" Pryce squinted up at the figure haloed by the sun. His head spun from the fall, crushed wildflowers releasing their sweet perfume around him.
As his vision cleared, he saw her more clearly—a young woman with flowing blonde hair that caught the sunlight like spun gold. Her white dress rippled in the breeze, adorned with intricate dragon motifs in silver thread. But what caught his breath wasn't her beauty—it was the subtle shimmer of scales along her neck and temples, catching the light like tiny opals.
"Not quite," she said. She extended a delicate hand to help him up. "Though I imagine that fall was hard enough to make you see angels."
Pryce felt a strange pull as their eyes met—hers were an impossible shade of violet. The pendant his mother had given him grew warm against his chest, and he wondered if the dragon blood that flowed in his veins recognized something kindred in this mysterious girl.
A meow broke the spell. Ash emerged from his overturned carrier, fur standing on end like a puffed-up dandelion. Nearby, Stormwing shook herself like a massive dog, looking thoroughly embarrassed by their graceless landing.
"I'm fine," Pryce said, brushing crushed petals from his clothes as he stood. "Stormwing, you alright, girl?"
The dragon huffed in response. She ducked her head, looking about as embarrassed as a massive flying reptile could manage.
Skye circled overhead, letting out what sounded suspiciously like a mocking squawk. "Nobody likes a show-off, Skye."
"Your companions are . . . interesting," the mysterious girl said, watching as Ash attempted to groom his dignity back into place. Something in her tone suggested she found the whole menagerie beneath her notice. "A dragon who can't land properly, a mangy cat, and a common seabird."
Pryce felt a flare of defensiveness. "Stormwing's still learning. We all are." He stepped closer to his dragon. "And Ash and Skye are family."
"Of course. Forgive my rudeness. Perhaps . . ." She glanced at the dilapidated barracks in the distance. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable? It looks like you could use a rest after that landing."
Pryce hesitated because of Finnegan's warnings about strangers, but something about this girl drew him in—like a tide he couldn't resist.
"The barracks isn't much, but you're welcome to come in. First, I need to get this saddle off Stormwing—"
"Leave it," she said. "The saddle can wait. I'd love to see your home, humble as it may be."
As they walked toward the barracks, Pryce couldn't help noticing how graceful she was, her white dress somehow remaining pristine. Stormwing followed at a distance, the loose saddle creaking with each step.
Inside the barracks, Pryce felt a little awkward at the sparse furnishings and rough conditions. "I don't have much to offer," he said, gesturing to the remains of breakfast—some hard bread and cold tea. "But you're welcome to—"
"You poor thing," she interrupted, genuine sympathy in her voice. "Living out here all alone, with so little." She turned to face him fully, and Pryce found himself transfixed by those violet eyes again. "But what if I told you it didn't have to be this way?"
"What do you mean?"
She smiled. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Princess Seren of the Dragonkin, and I've been watching you, Pryce Harper-Green. You have a gift—a true connection with dragons. Mother was right about you."
"Mother?" Pryce's mouth went dry. "You mean . . . Queen Nymeria?"
"Yes, Queen Nymeria is my mother. She noticed your talent immediately. The way you bonded with Stormwing . . . it's rare, even among our people."
Pryce sank into a rickety chair. Through the window, he could see Stormwing attempting to scratch an itch around the loose saddle, looking thoroughly undignified. "Your mother . . . she was watching me yesterday."
"She sees potential in you, Pryce." Seren sat gracefully on the edge of the table, closer than he expected. The subtle scales along her neck caught the afternoon light filtering through the broken windows. "And so do I. Look at you—trying to train a dragon with nothing but an old book and cast-off equipment. Imagine what you could achieve with proper guidance."
His stomach twisted with excitement and dread. "What exactly are you offering?"
"Everything you've dreamed of. We have master dragon trainers who could teach you things that aren't written in any book. Stormwing could socialize with other dragons, learn from them. And you . . ." She gestured at the bare walls of the barracks. "You wouldn't be confined to this lonely island or bound by Crystal Shores' small ambitions."
Pryce's hand went to the dragon pendant at his neck, feeling its warmth. "But my family . . ."
"Would benefit enormously." Seren's violet eyes flashed for a moment. "The Dragonkin reward loyalty generously. Think of what you could send home to them. No more empty nets for your father. No more watching your mother stretch every coin until it screams."
Looking out the window again, Pryce caught sight of Skye landing near Stormwing. The gull had grown protective of the dragon, often bringing her small fish it had caught. Even now, it was checking the saddle straps with its beak.
"I can visit them? Come back whenever I want?"
"Of course. We're offering you opportunities, not a prison. Though," she added, "I suspect once you see what we can offer, you won't want to leave."
Pryce stood, pacing the squeaking floorboards. Everything she said made sense. Too much sense. A whisper of doubt made him pause by the kitchen doorway. "I . . . need a moment. To write a note for Old Man Finnegan. He deserves that much."
"Take your time," Seren said graciously.
In the kitchen, Pryce pulled out the coin purse Gavin had given him. Quietly, he tucked most of it into a loose floorboard, keeping only a small amount in his pocket. Finnegan's warnings about the Dragonkin Marauders echoed like a distant storm warning. Trust, but not blindly.
At the table, Pryce's hand trembled as he wrote:
Dear Finnegan,
I know this will disappoint you, but I've found a way to learn proper dragon training. Princess Seren of the Dragonkin has offered to help. I promise I'll make you proud and prove everyone wrong about Stormwing. Thank you for everything.
—Pryce
He left the note where Finnegan would find it, weighted down with a chipped mug. The old man's warning about the Dragonkin haunted him, but Pryce pushed the doubt away. This was his chance—perhaps his only chance—to become something more than just another struggling Shorling.
"Ready?" Seren asked from the doorway.
Pryce nodded, gathering his few belongings, including the new quiver and bow his family had given him. The pendant his mother gave him felt heavier than usual against his chest.
Outside, Stormwing greeted him with a gentle headbutt that nearly knocked him over. "We're going on an adventure, girl," he said, scratching under her chin. "A real one this time."
Ash had settled back into his carrier, seemingly resigned to more aerial acrobatics. Skye circled overhead, letting out concerned chirps.
"She can follow if she wants," Seren said, noticing Pryce's glance at the gull. "Though we have far better messenger birds among the Dragonkin."
Pryce spent several minutes adjusting and tightening the saddle straps, then climbed onto Stormwing's back. Seren mounted behind him, her arms slipping around his waist. The scent of her hair reminded him of storm winds over the lake.
"North," she said, pointing toward the distant mountains. "Beyond the Dragonspine Reaches."
As Stormwing spread her wings, Pryce turned for one last look at the rundown barracks, his temporary home with its leaky roof and creaking floors.
"Having second thoughts?" Seren's breath was warm against his ear.
"No," Pryce said. He gripped the reins tighter. "Let's go, Stormwing."
The dragon leaped skyward, stronger and more confident than before. As they climbed higher, Skye fell into formation beside them, her wings catching the same currents that carried them north. Below, the Island of Emberfall grew smaller, taking Pryce's old life with it.
He was no longer just Pryce Harper-Green, the fisherman's son who dreamed too big. He was Pryce the Dragon Trainer, heading toward a destiny that promised power beyond his wildest dreams.
If only he could silence the tiny voice that wondered whether he was flying toward that destiny—or into a carefully laid trap.
