I HATE FIGHTING. I bellow inside my head as my battle ax slices through an enemy soldier, spraying their blood across my face.

          My monstrous dragon bites off a Kosuian warrior’s left arm. She screams, the sound blending into the chorus of yells, grunts, howls, and metal clanging on the mountainous battlefield. Akaimo attempts to eat her, and I nudge him away from the mortally injured woman. She’ll die on the muddy battlefield. Bleeding out was a better death than the fate one would meet in a dragon's stomach. It is the only mercy I could give in war. Akaimo sends me a slew of angry emotions that burn my chest. I kick his flank in retaliation. 

          “You great slug, we have a mission: take out the archers and do not gorge on useless warriors.” I gesture my bloody axe at the woman writhing on the ground.

          Akaimo snorts. His long tail whips me across the back, its spiked end ripping into my shoulder and back. I cry out as the monster takes flight into the sky. Cold air flows into and expands my shirt through the gaps in the back, stinging the cut. Akaimo sends me thoughts of him eating an archer's arms.

          War keeps the dragon flock manageably thinned and fed.

          “Yes, you can eat an arm,” I grumble. 

          In the skies, other dragons and their riders swoop up and down from the noisy field of blood. Kosuian Mages send volleys of wind arrows into the sky, attempting to take down the flying slugs. In the distance, to my left, one dragon jerks and plummets to the ground.

          “Left field,” Commander Crea yells from her mount.

          Akaimo swoops to the left, dodging flying arrows. The rusted red dragon is in sight of the archers, the arrows now harder to avoid, and heaves, his chest contracting before spraying acid on the line of defenders. People scatter, their positions changing, and the line breaks to avoid the highly corrosive digestive fluids. The Kosuian woman’s arm hits an archer in the face, and the man screams.

          The dragon banks, and as soon as I’m close enough, I swing my ax and hit another person, chopping and slicing. Akaimo sends me thoughts of exhilaration, his eyes targeted on a horse and rider who has just speared another dragon through the chest. The dragon's rider falls to the ground, clutching her chest, the binding mark burning her as her mount dies. She’s free now.

          Before she can run and escape to a better life, another dragon swoops in and bites her in two. I glance away, nauseous, not bothered by the blood or pointless killing but by the agony that she was free, but only for a moment.

          “In the graced gazes of Talos, Huiat, Ephri, and Xir.” I pray, my voice drowned by the violence around me, “Blessed Venerated Four, give her what this cruel world has taken. She did not deserve to die, guide her soul into to your warmth of the skies above.” 

          The life of a dragon rider is bathed in blood and servitude.

          Akaimo chitters in agitation at my momentary lack of attention. His blood is thrumming with excitement, wanting to fight more and more. Even still injured from his fight with the Black King, my dragon craves the violence.

          “Crea told us to keep the left archers busy. They’re going to regroup,” I argue, trying to nudge him away.

          Akaimo won’t budge, wanting the challenge of taking down the knight who killed the green dragon. My monstrous mount slithers across the ground, using its clawed feet to scramble over the corpses and boulders littered across the mountainous terrain. The Langling mountains are not as steep as those of the Dragons’ Nest but have denser vegetation. The noise of war drowns out the birds and insects; the air is thick with hot metal, sweat, and blood.

          The Langling knight notices my dragon's approach and readies his spear. Akaimo whips me again with his tail when my thoughts resist him, urging the beast away from the fight. I just want to go home. Blood and sweat roll down my back, stinging, yet normal.

          “The Bloody Red Prince, a prize to hunt down,” the Langling knight cries from behind the green cloth covering their face, with only the Langling golden eyes visible to glare at us.

          Akaimo is vibrating, chest rumbling with pleasure, thoughts dripping with bloodthirsty glee. I grip the ax in my hand, the other hand holding onto the leather saddle strap that holds me to the red beast. The monster charges forward with an excited hunter's yell. It opens its mouth to spray more acid, and the knight nudges their brave horse to the side, dodging the acid. Akaimo is frustrated—he imagines biting off the horse's head, enjoying the crunch of the skull in his mouth. I don’t need that mental image. Ignoring me, as always, Akaimo lunges forward, snapping his jaw. I sense movement to the left and use my ax to deflect a blade from a Kosuian warrior. Akaimo whips his tail, slapping the warrior away, and bounces into the air.

          Two dragons are shot from the sky, and a familiar scream draws my attention as the beasts spiral and plummet to the ground. A group of Kosuian archers cheers.

          The yellow dragon is dead, the rider crushed and unresponsive underneath. 

          Francis! 

          There isn't a moment to send a prayer.

          “Rider, left flank,” Cera screams. She’s almost a whisper of wind against the roaring chaos of battle around us.

          “Stop, stop,” I yell, attempting to redirect Akaimo.

          Akaimo ignores me, tucks his wings, and swoops down to the knight, claws and teeth open for an attack. The Langling knight’s spear glows like the afternoon setting sun and flies at us. The knight’s hand is outstretched. I nudge the dragon with my knee, but he doesn’t budge from his straight descent. The spear comes at us like a shooting star, and I’m helpless but to watch. Akaimo banks to the side, celebrating in his mind. I slump down, my heart pounding.

          The Langling knight returns to a fighting stance and pulls their arm to their chest. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and I turn in time to see the spear falling backward, trajectory changed mid-air. Akaimo’s movements are slow, and he hurts when he moves his neck quickly.

          “Move, move,” I attempt to yell. 

          I don't want to die.

          As a dragon rider, it’s my job to literally guard the dragon's back, even at the cost of my own skin. Twisting, my back twinging, I swing at the magical spear. It slices through my ax, goes right between my arms and abdomen, deeply grazing my ribs, and rips through Akaimo’s left wing, right at the joint. My dragon’s pain is shared between us, rattling my teeth and leaving me gasping in agony.

We plummet to the ground, Akaimo’s left wing held on by a few pink muscles. The knight is again holding their spear. I’m bleeding heavily, gasping in pain, and pissed. Akaimo rears up, and I’m still screaming at him to stop.

          “Retreat. Retreat,” I beg my prison guard.

          The monster charges at the knight, spitting in fury, stomach empty of acid. The knight twirls their magic spear, horse rearing up. Akaimo jumps, and the spear pierces his chest and cuts through the leather harness holding me to the dragon. With a scream of anguish, I slip off, rolling to the side with a grunt. Akaimo doesn’t even notice, bleeding heavily, his left wing useless. My own arm burns.

          Around the dragon and knight, Kosuian warriors, Langling knights, and Rwynn soldiers—our allies—watch at a distance. I cut myself out of the remains of the leather harness, panting and holding my bleeding side. The Langling Knight performs the same trick of calling back the spear, and I see it glinting from behind. My mouth opens to warn Akaimo, and I bite my lip. The magic spear pierces the dragon a second time, two holes in his chest. Akaimo howls, and the bond brand on my chest burns. I feel as if I’d been stabbed through the heart. It burns to suck in a single breath.

          Promise. Promise. Stay. Stay, Akaimo is furiously screaming in my head.

          When the knight raises their spear a third time, I know Akaimo is going to die.

          Good.

          Finally.

          This is my chance. I could . . . run. I could be free. If I can survive his death.

          Turning my back on my dragon, my prison guard for the last twenty years, I run in the opposite direction of the battle. Blood runs from my side, down into my pants, and into my boots. I duck through swords and spears, narrowly miss an arrow flying at my head, and skid to the edge of a cliff on the mountain. 

          I’ve never been in this amount of agony. My legs shake as my vision dances with lights. The bond burns as if it can reach into my chest and squeeze my heart to death. It wants me to follow my dragon even into death.

          No. Fuck I won’t die. 

          I will live to the next sunrise.

          Along the way, I trip over the mangled body of a dragon rider in green armor. The Langlings have the higher ground, with the dragon riders attacking from the air and the Rwynn soldiers advancing up the mountain. The terrain must be like where I grew up in Dragons' Nest. There must be caves I can hide in, or a tree’s roots to shove myself into to. 

          “Dragon’s pet.”

          A Kosuian warrior finds me as I am contemplating where to hide. I deflect the young man’s blade, pivot, and elbow him in the chest. When he gasps, I knock his sword from his hands and then kick it over the side of the cliff. It’s just the two of us—most of the fighting is on the other side of the mountain by the coveted pass. 

          He is young, possibly the same age as Hacon.

          The boy’s dark eyes are large as his mouth drops open. “The monster in human skin.”

          Promise . . . stay, Akaimo sends through our fading link. His voice is barely heard over the rushing in my ears and the pain radiating throughout my body.

          “Go,” I shout at the young boy, no older than fifteen. When he doesn’t move, I grab his shirt and haul him forward until we’re at eye level. My bloody hands stain his teal robes. “Run, you little moron. Live, don’t die here.”

          Not needing to be told twice, the young man turns and runs. The brand on my chest burns hot enough that I expect to burst into flames. I muffle a scream, smearing blood on my face. I’ve seen this happen enough times to know what has happened. If I can survive the breaking, the black bond mark will turn white, like a scar.

          Akaimo is dying.

          The pain seizes my body and locks my knees. Unable to control my unresponsive body, I tumble down the cliffside. Rocks dig into my skin, and bushes tear at my clothing. I slam into a large tree trunk, the breath knocked from me. My vision blacks out, and I escape from the pain in my body.

 

 

***

 

 

          “I can’t do this,” a younger Hacon whines in my hazy dream.

          I step forward, hands raised as if to touch him and help him mount his young orange dragon. Akaimo watches its hatchling restlessly move around as I teach my own child how to survive in the Nest. 

          “You can,” I say.

          Hacon shakes his head, his auburn locks sweeping his shoulders. His green eyes are large and red-rimmed. I know he’s been crying; it’s a common reaction for newly added horde members. We’ve been practicing for hours. Our patience is fraying with each other.

          “I’m not made for war.” His eyes trail over my chest, where my shirt is open, revealing the scars there.

          Sarcastically, I want to snap at him that no one is, but survival will make people into their most resourceful selves to live on.

          “Again,” I gesture to the dragon.

          “Can we eat?” He puts a hand against his bruised shoulder.

          I brush a hand through my sweaty curls. Well, a break wouldn’t hurt; the child does need to learn how chores in the Nest are done. However, getting on his dragon is most important. Walking from peak to peak is exhausting. For someone green without built-up stamina, it’s faster to fly. Being in the sky will be the closest to freedom he can achieve in the oppressive Nest.

          “Try three more . . .”

          “Snake.” Hacon jumps as a long green snake wiggles above us on the branch of a plum blossom tree in bloom.

          Hacon stumbles backward and tumbles into a nearby hot spring, soaking himself. I rip Akaimo’s claw from my middle and rush towards the kid. The small orange dragon eats the creature that caused its rider distress.

          Hacon is sputtering and angry, slapping at his smaller dragon’s claw that reaches for him. “Get away from me, you ugly worm.”

          I can’t tell if it’s water or tears running down his cheeks. At fourteen, the child is barely adjusting to the life I’d forced upon him. Maybe I should have let the dragons eat him instead of forcing Akaimo to make one of it’s Hackling’s bond with the child.

          My dream is quieter than I know the Dragons’ Nest truly is. There are no sounds of rushing water, howling monkeys, chirping birds, or voices.

          I reach for the boy, and he takes my hand, allowing me to pull him up and out. His hands are soft and small. He barely reaches my chin. The two dragons hiss at each other again.

          “I won’t assign you any battles. You’ll work as a guard for the mines. Flying is important. Necessary.”

          “But everyone has to have a turn in battle to earn guard duty.”

          He reminds me of my younger self, scared and alone. I was his age when I’d attempted— for the first and last time— to cross the frozen ocean to the east. I attempted to run from my dragon, and war had carved guilt and horror into my chest. I rub a calloused thumb under his eye.

          “I find guard work boring,” I lie, “and Akaimo hates the noise of the mines. You’ll take my shifts. No one will argue with me.”

          Hacon smiles up at me, his ears too large for his head and his teeth a bit crooked. I ruffle his wet hair and resist the urge to hug the child when he leans into my touch.

          Mine. Mine. Mine. Akaimo’s possessive thoughts dig into my brain as if he can sink his claws into my very soul.

          The lesson continues until my dream becomes too foggy and I cannot see anything.

 

 

***

 

 

          I awaken to a pounding headache, a fire in my chest, and the sound of continuous fighting. Squinting up at the setting sun and the long shadows that reach eastward, I determine six hours have passed. Hopefully, the other dragon riders will assume I died, and no Rwynn soldiers will search for me. The other dragons will feast on Akaimo’s corpse.

          The ache in my body is bone-shattering. My skin is tenderized, my head is pounding, and my skin is too tight and hot. Every breath shakes me like a house made of sticks in monsoon winds.

          I need to hide and wait out the battle, and then... escape where the Mad Emperor can’t find me again. No more fighting. No more dragons.

          The sea, I want to see the ocean. Swim out and never return to this accursed place.

          If I can survive the night and find a path out.

          Crawling to my feet, using the tree to hold myself up, I sway. The dried blood on my face and hands is flaky and itchy. To my right, slightly up the cliff I tumbled down, is a small cave.

          “Huiat has blessed me with safety,” I wheeze.

          I manage only a few steps before my legs crumble underneath me. Determined to hide, I crawl towards the cave. It’s dark inside and half my height with a musty, familiar smell. Inside it opens up into a larger cavern. Through the dim light of the setting sun, I can barely make out the slumped form of a person.

          In unison, we point weapons at each other and speak in unison. “Don’t say anything.”

          There is a pause.

          “Are you also running away?” I gather my courage and ask.

          “Yes,” comes a weak croak, and the person drops their weapon. The voice sounds male, but I’m not certain.

          It’s easy to speak without seeing a face. “We can share the cave until dawn—the fighting will be over by then.” 

          My hands shake, but I manage to unbuckle the leather armor over my clothing. I bind my torn shirt around my ribs and the sluggishly bleeding wounds. Unburdened. I collapse on the cold earthen floor, mindful of the lashes on my back. There's a real possibility I’ll bleed out.

          A shiver jolts my body as the pain continues.

          “The pass won’t fall,” my shadowy companion whispers.

          “The dragon riders can’t fight for days; the worms will grow tired.”

          I’m free. I escaped. If this pain is the price to pay. I’ll gladly take it.