Chapter 9 WELCOME TO THE ACADEMY
LYRA
Tempest rumbled low, a sound like distant thunder mixed with amusement. A small, harmless bolt danced between her horns and leaped to the ground near the official’s feet, making the man yelp and stumble back.
Another rider, a senior with silver pins on his collar, pushed through the crowd. “Stand down. The dragon has spoken. Bonds aren’t bound by paperwork.”
His eyes flicked to my purple hair, then to Tempest, a mix of awe and wariness crossing his face. “Though we’ll need to sort the formalities later. For now… welcome to the Academy, rider.”
The word rider sent a rush through me so strong my knees nearly buckled. I had done it. Sneaked past every barrier, broken every expectation, and been chosen by the rarest dragon on the field. A storm dragon. And she was female, fierce, playful, and completely mine.
Somewhere in the stands, Mother was probably frozen in shock, her golden-yellow braid stiff with tension. Selene would be cheering, her sunny hair bouncing as she clapped. I hoped she’d been chosen too, or at least that a dragon had seen the gentle light in her.
Before I could dwell on it, Tempest lowered herself gracefully, one wing extended like a living ramp. Her presence pressed gently into my mind: Fly. Now. The sky has waited long enough.
My stomach flipped with a wild mix of terror and pure exhilaration. “Wait, right now? I don’t even know how to—”
But Tempest was patient yet insistent, her bond wrapping around my nerves like a steadying hand. Trust me, little storm. I will not let you fall.
I swallowed hard, heart racing so fast it felt like lightning dancing in my veins.
My legs trembled as I climbed, fingers digging into the warm, surprisingly smooth scales along her neck. They tingled under my touch, alive with contained power. I settled between two large spinal ridges, gripping tightly, my borrowed uniform suddenly feeling ridiculous against her majesty.
“Okay,” I whispered, more to myself than her. “Let’s do this.”
Tempest didn’t wait for more hesitation. She launched upward with a powerful surge of her wings. The ground dropped away in a stomach-lurching rush that stole my breath. I gasped, clinging tighter as the field, the stands, and the entire Academy shrank below us.
People looked like tiny specks, Mother and Selene mere golden and blue dots among the crowd. The wind roared past, cold and fierce, whipping my dark purple hair into a wild frenzy around my face. Strands stung my cheeks and tangled in the air, but I didn’t care. It felt alive. Free. Like the storm itself was running its fingers through my hair, claiming me as one of its own.
Laughter tore out of me, raw and joyful, swallowed almost instantly by the rushing wind. “This is… this is everything!”
We climbed higher, breaking through the low clouds into brilliant sunlight that dazzled my eyes. The world spread out beneath us in a breathtaking tapestry: the winding silver rivers, the distant purple mountains, the sprawling lower districts where I had spent eighteen years feeling small and out of place.
Up here, none of that mattered. The wind howled in my ears, tugged at my clothes, and danced through my purple hair like it was celebrating with me. I leaned forward, pressing closer to Tempest’s neck, feeling the powerful rhythm of her wings beating steadily beneath me. Each downstroke sent a thrill through my body, the air rushing over my skin in exhilarating waves.
Tempest banked gently to the left, and I moved with her instinctively, the bond guiding my weight. The turn was smooth yet thrilling, the world tilting around us in a dizzying but beautiful spiral.
My purple hair streamed behind me like a banner of violet lightning, catching the sun in flashes of deep color. I felt weightless, unstoppable, every doubt and insecurity from the ground melting away in the endless blue.
Feel it, Tempest’s presence whispered in my mind, not clear words yet, but clear feelings wrapped in warmth and pride. The wind is yours now. Let it carry you.
“I am!” I shouted into the roar, my voice cracking with laughter. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes from the cold air and overwhelming joy. This was what I had dreamed of in the attic, what I had risked everything for.
Not just riding, but this, the freedom, the power, the sense that I finally fit somewhere vast and wild.
We flew like that for what felt like forever but was probably only twenty minutes. Tempest showed me small things through the bond: how to shift my balance when she turned, how to breathe in rhythm with her wings, how to relax into the connection when fear tried to creep in.
My muscles burned from the unfamiliar strain, but the exhilaration made the ache feel like victory. Every gust of wind through my purple hair reminded me I was alive, chosen, soaring.
Eventually, Tempest circled back toward the Academy, descending with surprising gentleness onto a smaller training field reserved for new riders. She landed lightly, folding her wings with a soft rustle.
I slid down on shaky legs, knees buckling as my boots hit solid ground. Tempest immediately nudged me upright with her snout, a gentle spark jumping from her to my shoulder, playful, reassuring, like a friend saying well done.
“You were amazing,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to her scales. They were warm, humming with residual energy. “I can’t believe this is real.”
A senior rider approached, the same one from the field, with a mix of caution and respect on his face. “Not many first-timers stay on for an initial flight with a storm dragon. They’re spirited. And powerful.” His gaze lingered on Tempest. “She clearly sees something special in you.”