Standing underneath the traditional arched paifang of the Dragon Arts Academy, Lance peered out among the vast mountainous landscape as the sun dared to peek above the horizon. He admired the alluring scene of a clear, morning sky bleed its vibrant pink and orange hue unto the thin, drifting clouds beneath. Not a sound escaped at such a high altitude except the howling winds from the eastern mountains. Though he was familiar with the alpine habitat, he'd never paid much attention to a montane sunrise before today. For a moment, his connections to reality were abstracted by nature. The captivating scenery ignited a warm sensation deep within his chest until a harsh gust tore through his ceremonial silks and whistled sharply over his freshly shaven head. He clenched the front of his tunic and cringed. A subtle grimace threatened to tug at the corners of his lips as the apprehension he battled all morning came flooding back with a forceful vengeance.
It was the morning of his Ascension — a formal assessment in which a young man or woman could ascend from a mere commoner into the elite status of a Dragon Clan Member by demonstrating their ability to bond with a wild dragon. On their sixteenth birthday, students who trained for three years at the Dragon Arts Academy were called to perform their skills before the Clan Elder. Communication between man and beast was established by performing the ancient dragon art maneuvers and unification was complete through the bonding of their qi — the natural energy flow of life. An elegant performance of the maneuvers and well fought battle should persuade the dragon's interest in human partnership. Dragons could sense the inner character of a human, and rose forth to challenge those who shared their same nature. Yet because of a dragon's tendency to be unpredictable and aggressive, the majority of students failed to complete their ceremony.
It was a tradition embedded deep within the culture of the mountain region and existed since the humans' fallout with Dragon Pokémon over eight-hundred years ago. Humans and dragons once lived in harmony, training together, and communicating through the ancient art of dragon dance. Dragon Pokémon once roamed freely over the land and seas. It wasn't until the people of the East intruded west of the mountain range, searching for new lands, and discovering an unbeknownst power of the dragons that were foreign to them. A power struggle raged in the mountains, and when the smoke cleared from the brutality, hundreds of civilians were dead and the Dragon Pokémon, along with their trust for mankind, were wiped away — they would retire from roaming the open lands, whatever remained were banished into the Dragon's Den, which towers over the city, in the clouds, high above towards the heavens.
Lance tightened the grip on his shirt. Images of ill-fated students flashed before him, their faces disfigured with anguish and hopelessness. The probability of his fate taking a similar path was evident. He wasn't the strongest candidate at the academy. He was scrawny and significantly smaller in stature than the other students. Many Dragon Clan Members were hesitant to serve as his individual mentor.
The faster the coursing thoughts rushed through his head, the longer his desperate, pleading eyes stared out among the terrain. He could barely make out the mountain village of Blackthorn City, out in the distance, shrouded in a thin, opaque mist. The small, individual houses sloped along the mountain side provoked an acute sense of nostalgia.
He reminisced of his former days in Blackthorn as a young boy, scurrying about the dirt roads in the rural village. When he wasn't recycling stolen glass bottles abandoned on front porches of the wealthy for a few copper pieces, he played baseball in an old dirt field with the other twelve-year-olds who attended his schoolhouse. They'd be out after sunset until their mothers stood in the threshold of their decrepit, straw-roofed huts wafting their hands to clear away the dust they'd kick up. Like most of the other kids, Lance would be chastised about getting his school clothes dirty.
"What did I tell you about playing in that sand," his mother would say brushing the dust off his tattered, old clothes and ruffling her bony hand through his crimson hair. Her short-lived temper, a stark contrast to her timid nature, stemmed laughter from them both.
A faint smile lurked across his lips, urging a warm sensation to slither down his qi.
Moments later, the sound of hoofed feet trotting across the rocky ground arose from the distance and a bright torch illuminated the shadows. Lance watched the ruby-studded carriage pulled up before him. At the front, two majestic rapidash threw their heads about and let the eastern winds cut through their fiery manes. Two horsemen hopped off their saddles and opened the carriage doors. In the baroque carriage sat his mentor, Clair, a young woman who was no older than her mid-20s. She threw her black cape backwards and swung her long, shapely legs over the edge of the carriage threshold — her coral-blue hair flowing content like the Blackthorn River.
Lance promptly knelt to the ground and bowed until his forehead touched the cool dirt.
"Clan Member Clair," he acknowledged. He watched her blue, heeled boots come to a halt on the ground before him. The Dragon Clan Member slightly bowed to her inferior, a mere student in the Dragon Arts Academy, and laid a manicured finger on the young man's shoulder.
"Rise, pupil," she demanded. Lance lifted his head and stood to his feet. The young woman smirked with her maroon-painted lips. "Cousin Lance."
Her soothing glance met his quivering eyes as his she laid a firm hand on his shoulder. He tried to force a smile back, but his lips curled downward.
"You will do fine," she reassured. Lance shifted his eye contact in uneasiness. He felt his pulse increase and his breaths quicken. The trimmers he battled hours ago returned and wave of uncertainty chilled the flow of his qi. She added a chuckle. "You're as timid as a dratini."
The rapidash riders opened the carriage doors and lowered their heads in respect. Lance sat beside Clair and ran his fingers against the grain of the red velvet seats. The intricate plush cushions were more comfortable than the wooden pallets used for hours of meditation at the Dragon Arts Academy.
"I assume you remember all the maneuvers and approach sequences," Clair sternly concluded, staring straight ahead as the carriage jerked forward and began making its way up the jagged path. They we're headed to Dragon's Village — the sacred grounds where the Dragon's Den lay.
Lance snuck a quick glimpse towards Clair, but quickly retrieved. He didn't want her to see the tension etched between the wrinkles on his forehead.
"Yes," he firmly replied, his voice croaking slightly. "I remember everything."
"Good, as I know you do." She turned towards Lance with a stern look. "Did you bring an offering?"
Lance nodded and stuck his hand into his slack pocket. He let his finger tips gently brush over the smooth, cool ornament. His fingers intertwined around the thin chain flowing from the accessory. A dull ache resonated deep within his chest as he began to pull his offering from his pocket. A simple palladium pendant that lay in the palm of his hand. His mother's locket.
"Lance…"
He turned towards Clair whose stringent poise intimated him. Her jaw tightly clinched and her posture was stiffer than the collars on the horsemens' coats. Yet, he could see a tender blemish in her rigid demeanor. Her eyes were glossed over with a film of emotion but her voice spoke a delicate touch. "Are you sure that is what you want to give?"
The locket was the only salvageable item that could be recovered after a common mountain fire tore through Blackthorn's poorer eastside two years ago. His mother was one of dozens to have perished in the tragedy that continues to linger as a memory in the distant shadows of the village.
But Lance knew what he had to do. To enter Dragon's Den, he had to sacrifice an item he treasured, as a token, in respect of the slain lives of both man and beast during the struggle over Blackthorn City. His mother's locket was the only item that held any value to him.
He clutched the pendant in his fist before slipping it back into his pocket.
"Yes," he solemnly responded before swallowing a gnawing pain that began to claw at the back of his throat.
Claire nodded her head, and returned her intense glare to the long, winding road before them. Despite her calm demeanor, Lance could sense the rising stress emphasizing the strong lining of her jaw. He knew she had mentally prepared for his failure. His mediocrity in the Dragon Arts Academy barely permitted him to qualify for the Ascension. They were both aware that the ascending carriage ride to Dragon's Village may be the last time they'd see each other.
The chariot proceeded up the rickety, dirt trail that curved a gradual angle up to the peak of the mountain. The air was increasingly thin at such a high altitude and the once howling winds ceased into a calming breeze.
Dragon's Village: Home of the Dragon Guardians, read an old, withered sign at the tip of the mountain pasture. The village was significantly smaller than Blackthorn City, yet its foreign aroma of wealth and prosperity reinforced its social superiority over the neighboring town. It was a quiet pasture town, with only a soft wind blowing gracefully through the soft grass like a comb through wet hair. Completely devoid of commoners, its blessed grounds were preserved for the Dragon Clan and their apprentices to live and train with the sacred Dragon Pokémon.
Lance marveled at the greenery in contrast to the earth-toned homes. He'd never seen buildings made up of such durable material nor grass thick enough to blanket an entire village. Cozy, oriental-styled cabins made of brick and concrete were a far cry from the straw, mud and tin-roofed huts commonly seen in Blackthorn. In the distance stood the menacing Mt. Thorn that towered over the village and at the center of its base was a large, gated paifang. Standing at an impressive height, the gated and grandeur structure was the only opening in the impenetrable wall that encircled Mt. Thorn. Ancient Johtonese script was carved in rustic gold along the high paneling of the architecture and dozens of intricately carved statues of Dragon Pokémon bordered the top.
At the base of the framework, stood the impervious golden gate that connected the paifang to the rest surrounding wall. Two robust guards stood at the front of the solid gate. They wore the same navy blue coats as the horsemen and their collars were just as stiff. Their spears were crossed, seemingly ready for any conflict that threatened to harm whatever lies on the other side of the wall.
With an approved identification of Clair's social status, the guards lowered their spears and bowed before their carriage. They stepped aside their original positions and pulled the heavy gate open to reveal a large cave within the base of Mt. Thorn. The peaceful greenery from the pastured grounds behind them dwindled off into barren earth naked of anything except clay soil and small pebbles.
Lance peered out the passenger window as their carriage neared closer to the cave's entrance, just in front of their rapidash escorts. He could see some two dozen people, clan men and women, ceremoniously coordinated into two separate lines. Dragon Clan Members and their apprentices eyed the approaching cart and waited for the newest challenger to emerge.
The patterned sound of hoofed feet slowed until their carriage eventually came to a silencing halt. The large gate slammed shut upon their carriage crossing the threshold of the paifang.
Holy Grounds: Authorization Required From This Point On, read another sign at the transition point of where the grass ended and the rocky surface began.
"We exit here," Clair whispered as the horsemen opened the carriage door with courtesy.
Lance followed his blue-haired cousin towards the Dragon's Den, watching her majestic cape trail gracefully behind her. The hard, rocky earth was uneven and relentless and he felt the presence of every small pebble in the arch of his foot.
The Clan Members wore dark ceremonial tunics slicked with royalty and their infamous black capes draped elegantly down their backs. Their younger apprentices, though currently undeserving of their capes, wore deep red tunic of higher status and stood attentively facing their superior counterparts.
As Clan Member Clair walked through their pathway formation, the apprentices knelt on one knee in her acknowledgement. The Clan Members simply bowed their heads at their equal. Lance kept his eyes focused on Clair's drifting cape. He'd been taught not to look a Clan Member or their apprentices in the eyes. Making eye contact implied equality, and as a mere commoner, he was not worthy.
He followed Clair towards the entrance of Dragon's Den. Before him, at the entrance of the cave, stood the Elder of the Dragon Clan and the literal guardian of the Dragon Shrine. He was a frail, old man who reeked of regality. His white beard, which hung well past his navel, had been intricately braided with gold sequences and his silky, purple robes were fine stitched with a demanding royalty. Clutched firmly in his grasp was the infamous Staff of Ice.
The crooked rod, which stood twice as tall as he, curved into an open ended circle. Within the circle, shone a small crystallized form of ice tethered against the staff through an interconnection of leather cord. The Elder himself held the only weakness of the dragons in the palm of his hands.
Clair knelt on one knee and bowed her head, similar to how the apprentices bowed to their mentors. The other Clan Members followed her gesture.
"Dragon Clan Elder," she initiated. She side glanced at Lance who had already knelt down, forehead touching the rough surface of the ground. "I am here to present to you, my pupil, Lance of Blackthorn City."
The Dragon Clan Elder stared down at Lance — his eyes straining down upon the young man. A deafening silence lingered over the sacred grounds as the Elder gathered his thoughts to speak.
"You come to show your worth to the dragons," he spoke. His ginger yet authoritative voice pierced through the silence like a sharp dagger. Lance kept his head lowered and pressed his hands together.
"Yes, Clan Elder"
"Look up young student," the Elder's soft voice ordered. Lance glanced up at the old man, and for a split second, their eyes met. His youthful brown to the Elder's silver. A royal crime.
A shiver ran down his spine as he shifted his eyes back to the ground before him. An unrelenting nausea settled in his stomach. He tightly shut his eyes and silently prayed for his ancestors to grant the Elder mercy upon him. Yet, the old man carried on with the ceremony, as if Lance hadn't just committed disrespect as heinous as spitting on a commoner's wife.
Instead the Elder replied, "Rise to your feet."
Lance immediately did as he was instructed, shifting the pebbles underneath his feet and keeping his head lowered. The Elder gently touched his staff against Lance's left shoulder.
"This way, student"
Lance flinched as he gazed up, only to find that the Elder had already began walking towards the Dragon Shrine. The shrine, a symbol of the hundreds of dragons who perished in the struggle over Blackthorn, held a small contained fire in its furnace, an unlit candle and a praying mat which lay before the softly burning flames. With the Elder's permission, Lance took a praying kneel; his hands placed flat against his thighs, and bowed his head before the furnace. He remembered the ancient praying ritual Clair taught him. The plea of forgiveness he was to make to the Dragon Pokémon both the dead and alive — plea from human ancestry for the gruesome slaughter of the dragons nearly eight-hundred years ago.
Lance watched the flames dance about in the open furnace of the dragon shrine. Silence nestled over the assembly and he could hear each crackle the fire sung. He stared down at the unlit candle and let the prayer he long rehearsed to roll like river stones to the forefront of his memory.
He slowly picked up the wooden lighting stick and placed the tip into the flames of the furnace. He knew the Elder, clan members and apprentices were observing him. His test started now and if he messed up his prayer, he would fail and be sent back down to Blackthorn City. He closed his eyes and took a deep, quivering breath and held the tip of the heated lighting stick close to his lips.
"Sacred dragons, I, Lance of Blackthorn City, come to challenge my worth to thee.
Dragon Pokémon, Please,
Forgive my ancient ancestors of the West and the past intruders of the East for the dishonor they committed against your magnificence.
I acknowledge their mistakes and apologize for their brutality.
I come to demonstrate the lost connection between humans and dragons.
To present the equality that formally existed between man and beast.
If you allow me, I shall embrace the gracefulness of your existence."
Upon finishing the prayer ritual, Lance took the red-hot lighting stick from the furnace and touched the tip to the wick of the candle. The low burning flame signaled the start of his Ascension and symbolized the lost souls of the dragons that were maimed and killed during the ancient battle.
He then reached into his pocket and felt for his mother's locket. He felt the coolness of the ornament and pulled it into the glow of the fire, watching as the flames reflected in its shiny surface. Before he let regret and hurt settle within him, he released the locket into the fire. The flames crackled and consumed the locket, raging through the innocent palladium and scorched it black. Lance stared into the flames, his mouth slightly agape as he watched the last possession of his mother burn away.
The Clan Elder banged his staff on the ground, and bolstered his voice above the crowd, "Student Lance of Blackthorn City, the candle is lit, thus signaling the start of your Ascension. Please rise and step forward."
He did as he was told and then, and only then, was he was permitted to look into the eyes and the face of the Elder. The Clan Elder presented Lance with two swords that would aid in his fight with the dragon. One sword to represent the mass slaughter and the other represented harmony and the ancient companionship between humans and dragons.
Lance was stripped of his tunic, left bare and bird-chested against the cool mountain air. The sword holsters were strapped unto his back and he bowed before the Elder. The Elder gestured towards the mouth of the cave.
"Beyond this point is of no return. Once you step foot on the most sacred of grounds, you decide your own fate."
Lance paused at the edge of the mouth and stared into the endless tunnel that outstretched before him. His heart pounded in his chest and a startling reality began to set in. He would enter Dragon's Den as a peasant and would exit either as an unchanged peasant banished from ever returning to the Dragon Village or praised as an apprentice and a future member of the Dragon Clan.
He took a deep breath and began to drag his heavy feet through the cave, the Elder followed at a distance. He would overseer his Ascension, and intervene only if Lance were on the verge of being killed, and at that point, it would be a forfeit.
Lance let his mind flash before images of previous students from his academy who took upon Ascension. He'd seen dozens selectively rise to the challenge, but only one prevailed. One challenger in three years.
The cave was dark, dank, and clammy. The humidity hugged his skin and he shivered with uneasiness. Large daggers of rock formations penetrated the grounds and hung like dragon's teeth from the high ceilings of the cave and the ground was deathly uneven.
Out in the distance, a low rumbling shook the earth of the cave, shadows of wings bouncing off the walls, teasing his vision as he jerked his head from one direction to the next. The rumblings of the earth radiated up his legs, into his arms and torso before he stood trembling from shock. The brief silence in the cave playing more on his mind than the shadows played on the walls.
Suddenly, piercing through the damp atmosphere shrilled a loud, screeching roar from deep within the cave. With slight hesitation, Lance knelt into the Approach-Sequence, a low crouch to the ground, his left leg stretched outward, and his weight shifted to his right leg. He drew his hands up together before his face, a symbol of peace in ancient dragon art. The distant dragon cried another screech. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew the dragon was aware of his presence, and he waited for the beast to come forward. Yet, the dragon stayed hidden, its shadow arching its back before disappearing into the low glow of a nearby stream.
Damn it, he thought. The dragon roared again louder, but Lance refused to move from his position, itching from the anxiety that manifested on the surface of his skin as dew drops.
"Come forth, dragon," Lance commanded. "And I shall challenge your worth!" A gust of wind responded from the heart of the cave. The dark shadow rose from the waters and encroached upon a hill before him, the silhouette peeling away before the dim light of the cavern. Lance's eyes widened and his lower lip quivered. There, before him, stood a dragonite, a pokémon of power, nobility, and pride — so rare it was assumed they only existed when formally trained. The large creature lifted is head and released a battle cry before shooting a menacing sneer towards Lance, its eyes glowing an untamed golden hue. Lance's body trembled, but he exhaled a steady breath, keeping his composure as he reached back for the handles of his swords.
He waited for the dragonite's first attack. A dragon tamer never drew his swords before a dragon's first attack. It would be an act of dominance. The dragonite lifted his head and opened his mouth, showing its sharp, jagged teeth. A sphere of bright, white energy formed as a ball in the back of its throat.
Hyper beam.
Lance quickly pulled his swords from their holders, and held them arms length in front of him, blades towards the dragon. He'd learn from the teachings in the Dragon Arts Academy about the power of the swords. How they could block the attack of a dragon if held at the right angle. He could only hope his three years of vigorous training oppressed his nervousness and that he was able to perform the blocking sequence with second nature. The dragonite's hyper beam blasted from its mouth and hurdled towards Lance. The strong, bright beam hit the crossing of the two blades and put an agonizing strain on Lance's wrists. He clinched his fists, his wrists nearly giving out from the dragon's most powerful attack. He couldn't continue to hold his swords under high stress and his grasp progressively weakened.
Let your shoulders take the brunt. Don't block, but push the attack." Lance heard a distant voice of a former mentor from the academy. He slipped his left foot backwards, and slid his dominant foot forward, distributing his weight evenly between both feet. He slightly lowered his swords, immediately letting his shoulders take the brunt of the attack. Once he could feel the balance of the hyper beam between man and beast, the dragonite stopped his attack. It let out another sharp screech that bounced off the walls of the cave. Lance moved gracefully, he lowered his swords and backwards away from the dragon.
A temporary stance in dragon art that symbolized equality among man and beast. He knew he would eventually have to attack the dragon himself; to prove his own strength. But he wasn't sure on how to approach. The teachings in the academy focused primarily on the attack strategies of the common dragoniar — whose moves were less predictable and limited to the ground.
The dragon's eyes stayed a golden hue while watching Lance's every move. Lance's every breath weighed heavy with anxiety as he waited for a sudden attack. Their stare down lasted for moments until, the dragonite took off in the air, towards the ceiling of the cave before spearing back down towards Lance, its eyes glaring, revenge swirling.
Never run from a dragon; never turn your back to one. He heard the constant battering of such advice for years at the academy. Lance measured as the dragon dove down towards him, before tucking the swords tightly to his chest and rolling out from the path of the dragon's decent. The dragonite crashed into the earth and Lance rolled into a kneeling position, swords held flat against his back.
He watched as the dragonite immediately leapt up from where it crashed and gathered itself for another attack. Lance dropped the swords to his side and eyed the roaming dragonite, while staying light on his feet and on his toes. The dragonite's glowing eyes watched Lance and once again prepared to charge at him. Lance shifted his weight to one foot and as the dragon dove towards him, he thrust both of his swords into the chin of the dragonite, falling backwards into the earth when the dragon crashed. He could feel the warm blood oozing down the blades of the swords and running unto his hands and arms. He'd quickly pulled the swords from the dragon and back away, eyeing it as it laid there, its head nestled in the earth. Lance held the swords outward and pointed the blades towards the wounded dragonite, letting its blood drip before his feet. He held his stance, emphasizing the sequence in the dragon arts that symbolized courage.
The dragonite rustled from the ground and turned its head to face its challenger. Lance lowered his swords and shifted his weight on his left leg and out stretched his right leg to where his toes lightly touched the ground beneath. The dragon eyed him, eyes clouded with rage and charged again. He barely dodged dragonite's attack and pinned himself against a bolder as he watched the dragon flying and crying out to the caves.
He'd noted the way the dragon charged, the way it screeched, the unrelenting hue in its eyes. The attack pattern of the dragonite was vastly different than what he studied at the Dragon Arts Academy. He wasn't familiar with a dragonite's move-set, but he studied the art of the dragons. He knew how they communicated. He knew their body language. This dragon was not protecting its territory and it wasn't seeking Lance's worth. A deep anger reflected in its eyes and masqueraded on its features. It wanted to kill.
The possibility became real to Lance, and his hands trembled with the rest of his body. He again tried to dodge the dragon's charging attack but rolled up too quickly into his defensive position. His left leg, his weight-bearing leg caught in a small crater. His ankle buckled and snapped. Lance nearly shouted in agony as he came crashing down on the rocky grounds of the cave, rocks piercing the sides of his torso and jagged shards of crumbled earth stabbed him in the cheek. Pain shot throughout his body. As pulsing pain surged throughout his body and ankle. The pain radiated up his leg, and his head throbbed. He watched the high arched ceiling in the cave, watching its intricate structure and rock formations. He felt cold and the humidity made his skin cold and damp. The dragonite flew overhead, circling him as if it were a buzzard circling its dying prey. He'd watch the dragon and he could almost see an insular smirk on its face. The environment settled on him like a weight, pressing old memories to flash by him like living spirits. How he made it to this point.
He stood atop the old barrel stack in the town square with his friends, the dirt of the city floating high in the air light with the rest of the mood. They clattered excitedly among each other while gathered around the only paved road in the village with the rest of a growing crowd of commoners. Villagers of all ages — old, young, men and women — gathered together with light hearts and rare smiles. Everyone had been unusually giddy, scattering rice and other grains onto the roads to bring prosperity. Some waved towels and others bowed to the streets, kissing them where they were smooth. The young boys crowded together and climbed on top of one another to get a view of the highly anticipated parade, the annual Dragon Clan parade. Cries and yelps of joy arose from the crowd when the clan came through. They flew on their dragons waving to the people of Blackthorn while their majestic black capes trailed behind them a graceful in manner. Their smiles were genuine and a connection to the village could be seen on their faces. Most were once natives to the city.
Lance and the other young boys stood on the barrels as the clan passed their position. They tried aggressively to get the attentions of the Clan members.
"Over here," they'd holler. "Look his way." A lady with blue hair would eventually blow them a kiss and provoke their heightened levels of hormones. Lance would tell his friends, amidst their excitement, that the woman was his cousin. They would never believe him, but he would always keep the truth inside him and it would warm him against the cold reality of death and poverty lurking with intimacy above Blackthorn City.
From that day onward, he knew he wanted to become a dragon tamer, as with the rest of his friends. On the day he set out on the eastward journey towards the mountains, he'd stand in the kitchen with his mother to kiss her farewell. His mother, a small and frail woman, wiped her hands with a tattered dish rag after heating up the remnants of the previous week's grain rations. Her silver eyes depleting into a dull gray with exhaustion, but she wore a soft smile of warmth.
"I know this is what you've wanted to do for some time now." She told Lance, taking a ginger step towards him. "I must let you go, shouldn't I?" He would turn towards her and let her rub her fingers across his bony face. He flinched at the coolness of her fingers and he reached up to grab her wrist.
"I will be back, someday," he would say, before letting her hand fall limp to her side. He would leave hours later, fleeing northeast, towards the skies and the guardians.
Lance watched the dragon fly over his head preparing for a final blow. He reached down and ran a hand over his ankle, grimacing at the sharp pain coursing throughout his leg. It had already swollen to twice its size and the throbbing worsened with each passing moment. While he kept his eyes on the overhead dragon, he channeled into his qi, focusing on the source of his pain. He reached behind him and retrieved his bloody swords. He hesitantly put weight on his lame leg, ignoring the pain shooting up to his hip. The grip on his swords tightened as he floated in and out of his memories. Watching the faces of those who failed the Ascension —those in the academy, his friends from the village — banished from the mountains to their inevitable deaths.
He stood hunched over, his leg quivering underneath him but a fire burned deep within his chest. The tame fire of the shrine's furnace raged into the blaze that destroyed his village. The fire in the dragon's eyes met the fire in his heart. He didn't want to return to Blackthorn the same he left three years ago — a lowly peasant.
He wouldn't.
"You… are mine," Lance gnarled, feeling the blood trickle down the sides of his face.
The dragonite, again, dove downward towards its target. Lance waited until dragon was just feet above him until he launched forward, off his stronger leg, and sliced two markings across the dragon's chest — across the dragon's heart. The dragon roared in pain and crashed down into the earth pinning Lance against the ground.
The dust settled and only the sound of dripping dew drops off rock pillars sounded throughout the silenced cave. Lance grunted as he pried himself from beneath the weight of the dragon, and scooted away from the beast. He watched its soft breathing, inhaling and exhaling. The dragon stirred and opened his eyes and started Lance with a soft blue hue. It sat up calmly and he trembled as he watched the blood run from its chest down its belly front. It just sat there on the ground, towering over Lance. It cooed and lowered its head towards the young trainer and sniffed him to observe his scent.
Lance stood in disbelief, blinking his eyes rapidly before dropping his swords to the cave floor. He reached his arms outward towards the dragonite. He let his fingers run across the dragon's orange scales and held its face within his hands. The blood from the earlier strike ran down his arms. He touched his forehead to dragonite's and closed his eyes. He filtered away from reality, tapping deep into his qi trying to find dragonite's life flow. He heard the rushing rivers of Blackthorn, the eastern winds from the mountains rushing outside the cave and a swift breath of life jolted through his fingertips and intertwining around the trickling qi of dragon. Their energy united with a painful jolt and Lance slumped over the dragon's snout. Everything was spinning and he held on tight to the dragon. He looked into its eyes with a half smile and ran his hand on the side of its face.
"Be my partner," Lance whispered to the dragonite. He quivered and shook, his ankle pulsating in a painful rage, his head throbbing, and his vision blurred. "Be my companion."
The dragon snorted a hot breath and pulled its head away, slipping from Lance's touch. He felt weightless, as if he were hovering above the ground in the clouds, drifting and floating, gravity ceasing to exist.
Everything went numb and everything went black.
Out in Dragon's Village, Clan Members and Clan Apprentices knelt before the mouth of the cave. The village was silent beyond unspoken thoughts. The sun was high in the sky; its light emitting high above the horizon down unto the neighboring village, sloped in the distant background. The city of Blackthorn which seemed so close shone bright in the sun's radiance. Clair and the Dragon Clan knelt before the unconscious boy who came forth from the Den. The large dragonite, glowing with majesty, bowed before him.
Lance squinted as he gazed up at the drifting clouds. His cousin Clair rested her hand beneath his head and smiled a cheeky grin of pride.
"Lance — our apprentice," he heard her say and read her lips. "Our noble and mighty apprentice."
He watched as the Dragon Clan, the Elder, all bowed before him. The air was light with prosperity, the callous grounds warm underneath him. He looked into their faces, all of them, and felt at peace. He met the obedient eyes of his dragonite, feeling their qi interlocked together in communion, until death.
Until their flames burned out.