The first dragon rider

The air howls past Vellithar’s ears as the mountain wind hurts her falling body like claws scratching, which is made even worse by the cold air. The jagged cliffs of Draventhur stretch out below like knives, a thousand meters of stone hunger ready to devour her. Her tentacles flail uselessly in the void.

She does not scream.

Her eyes are open. They shimmer, blink continuously as if she is trying to deny what is happening.

Above her, a shadow streaks downward - Drok, her lizard companion, spiraling through the sky. The little creature hurls itself down after her with reckless, trembling wings. It isn’t fast nor strong enough, not with those stubby limbs and narrow glide span, not with its body still bound by the limits of just pretending but not being.

“You fool, use your wings to slow down your fall now!” She screams.

Then something shifts.

In the wind, Vellithar feels it, like warm water lapping at her skin.

Drok’s mana.

She gasps, not because of the realization, but because, for the first time in her life, she can understand it. The stream of emotion, the echo of panic, the desperate scream of a small creature who is slowly losing its belief.

In that single moment, Vellithar finally speaks, not with mouth but her own magic.

“Your dream is stupid and unrealistic,” she says. “But you…have always been on my side.”

Tears streak up her cheeks, flying toward the sky as she falls. Drok’s eyes widen. The mana between them erupts - crackling, shimmering, no longer a stream-like link but a storm.

“I have always looked up to you, I admire your determination despite the inevitable failure,” she says, reaching her tentacles to Drok. “So please, if you don’t want to save yourself, cling to your dream at the last moment.”

Drok lets out a piercing roar, one that hears like that of dragons.

His body bursts outward - flesh stretching, bone expanding, wings tearing out of illusion. His scales form in a bright light, turning into a thick and iridescent armour. His limbs extend, claws sharpen, fangs curl like blades. The shade of the weak lizard vanishes.

And the dragon awakens.

Drok’s wings snap wide as he dives, massive now, shining like emerald flame. Mana floods around Vellithar’s tentacles, grabbing her with incredible gentleness.

Her fall halts instantly. She floats, suspended in the arms of a creature that should not be possible.

“I told you,” Drok whispers, his voice deeper, still amazed. “I am a dragon.”

They rise together.

The cliffs recede below. The peak above trembles.

Back at the ruined balcony, Agragon stares into the sky, robes fluttering against the rising pressure. Around him, the palace guards brace for impact, stunned by the impossible vision of a cephel riding a true dragon.

But Agragon does not flinch. His voice is barely a whisper:

“Raikage.”

The ground shudders.

Cracks spread through the stone beneath his tentacles. From the deep earth, a low rumble echoes as an ancient beast stirring from chains.

Then a great maw pierces the mountain surface.

The stone splits apart as a creature the size of a hill pulls itself upward. Its limbs are as thick as towers, its horns shaped like a crown, and its wings are just torn membranes.

Raikage, the Dragon Emperor rises from below, bound by an enormous green mana crystal jutting from its back.

The crystal pulses with energy, mana swirling like a storm trapped in glass. It pierces flesh and chains thought. But even through the pain, Raikage’s eyes remain alive. Alive and obeys.

“Raikage, my friend,” Agragon murmurs, touching the crystal, “I wish there had been another way.”

Below, Vellithar watches as Drok slows mid-air.

“That’s our emperor…” Drok whispers.

Raikage lifts its head, baring teeth like broken cliffs. The mana crystal glows brighter.

Asa, watching from far below, the rope has been cut off by a crack of the ceiling but her leg is too broken to move out of the way.

But then, she hears something. A whisper buried in the crystal.

“Fight, and kill, my friend.”

Raikage snarls, rearing back.

Then, its mouth and veins are filled with a bright blue energy.

Drok and Vellithar fly to the collapsed building, but they can’t get near enough to the Hero Party in time.

Then, Spidaract breaks in. He takes Asa and Arthur, then fires his web fluid in to Drok’s left foot and swing away with the new-grown dragon.

Right when they escape, a beam of white-hot energy tears through the air, exploding across the sky and vaporizing the outer spires of the palace. Rubble rains down the mountain like a storm of blades. Where once stood stone towers, now only scorched emptiness remains.

But Vellithar and Drok have dodged it, even though just barely.