They headed north along the main road until they reached the main army's encampment.

  Hundreds of soldiers moved between rows of tents. Command pavilions bore the royal standard, snapping in the wind. Supply trains stretched toward the horizon.

  The Grand General led them through the camp's perimeter, past saluting guards and busy quartermasters. Officers shouted orders. Smiths worked portable forges. The scale of it pressed down on Clive. This wasn't just an expedition. This was war.

  “Welcome to the Royal Army,” Louis said. “You will be assigned to the Dragon Knight Corps.”

  Clive's steps faltered. "Dragon Knight? As in... actual dragons?"

  "Yes. Actual dragons." Louis glanced back, one eyebrow raised at Clive's sudden enthusiasm. "I trust that won't be a problem?"

  "No. No problem at all." Clive couldn't quite suppress the grin spreading across his face. Dragons. Every young boy dreams of dragons. In his old life, he'd sketched them countless times. Now, he would finally get to see dragons in the flesh.

  Louis continued walking, not bothering to hide his own amusement. "The Dragon Knight Corps maintains separate quarters from the regular army. They answer directly to the Crown and operate under different protocols." He led them eastward through the camp.

  "We don't have dragons though," Lucia said. "How exactly would we contribute?"

  Clive perked up. "Unless we're getting our own dragons?"

  Prince Sion laughed. "Absolutely not. Dragon bonding takes years of training, and the creatures choose their riders, not the other way around. The Dragon Knight Corps is our most effective strike force against high-value targets. Fast, mobile, overwhelming firepower. Which is precisely why you'll be attached to them."

  "But we won't be riding," Lucia said.

  "The corps is more than just the riders. Each dragon knight squadron includes a whole team of personnel. People who can keep pace with rapid deployment and operate independently when needed." Sion glanced back at them. "An alchemist who can treat injuries in the field and a pictomancer who can cast any spell on demand? You'll be more useful than half the regular soldiers."

  "So we're... ground support," Clive said, trying not to sound too disappointed.

  "You're assets," Louis corrected. "The dragons provide mobility and combat power. You provide adaptability and problem-solving."

  The eastern quadrant was immediately distinguishable. Larger tents reinforced with what looked like scaled leather. Deep gouges scarred the packed earth, claw marks dragged through dirt and stone. A distinct smell of sulfur hung in the air.

  They rounded a supply wagon. A low rumbling sound vibrated through Clive’s chest and set his heart beating.

  Three dragons rested in a cleared area, each easily the size of a small house. The first one had crimson scales, each scale the size of Clive's palm. Another bore deep emerald coloring that shimmered in the sunlight. The third was slate-gray, its hide appearing to change hue like storm clouds rolling across the sky.

  Their golden eyes tracked movement around the camp. One yawned, revealing rows of curved teeth like scimitars and a throat that glowed faintly with inner heat.

  "Holy shit," Clive breathed. Beautiful. They were gorgeous.

  Soldiers tended to the creatures, checking harnesses and wing joints.

  "Magnificent creatures, aren't they?" Prince Sion's voice came from behind them. He'd approached while Clive stood transfixed. "San Dioral has maintained dragon knight traditions for over three centuries. Each dragon bonds with a single rider for life."

  "They're incredible," Clive managed.

  "They're dangerous," Louis corrected. "Respect that. They may be trained, but they're still apex predators. Don't approach without their riders present, and never startle one."

  A woman strode toward them from the direction of the dragons. Tall, with closely-cropped dark hair and a scar running from her left eyebrow to her jawline. Her armor bore scratches, and scorch marks.

  "Your Highness." She inclined her head to Sion, then her sharp gaze swept over Clive and Lucia. "These are the specialists the Grand General mentioned?"

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  "Field Marshall Miranda Theron, this is Clive Weston, pictomancer. And Lucia Thornwald, alchemist." Sion gestured to the dragon knight. "Miranda commands the Third Dragon Knight Squadron."

  "Pictomancer." Miranda’s eyes narrowed slightly, reassessing Clive. "I've heard the reports about what you did. Creating weapons mid-battle, adapting to the battlefield with any spell necessary." She crossed her arms. "Impressive, if the stories aren't exaggerated."

  "They probably are," Clive said. "Stories usually grow in the telling."

  A slight smile cracked Miranda's stern expression. "Honest. I appreciate that." She turned to Lucia. "And an alchemist…” She nodded slowly. "We’ll find a use for you. You'll both be attached to my squadron for the duration of the campaign. That means you follow my orders during combat operations, coordinate with my riders, and don't do anything stupid that gets my dragons hurt. Clear?"

  "Clear," Clive and Lucia said in unison.

  "Then let me introduce you to the squad." Miranda turned and whistled sharply.

  Two more riders emerged from a nearby tent.

  "This is Lieutenant Guma Sunrider, my second-in-command." A lean man with sun-darkened skin. "Rides Emberwing, the red one."

  Guma nodded but didn't speak.

  "Sergeant Yara Nightwind." A woman with intricate braids and callused hands. "She and Stormscale—the gray—specialize in reconnaissance and hit-and-run tactics."

  "And I ride Verdant,” Miranda added. “ Handles heavy assault."

  "Pleasure to meet you all," Clive said.

  Miranda pointed toward the dragons. "You'll want to introduce yourselves properly to the dragons as well. They're intelligent, more so than most people give them credit for. They'll remember your scent, your voice. If we're in a combat situation and you need an extraction, you want them to recognize you as allies, not threats."

  She led them toward the resting dragons. Up close, the creatures felt even more overwhelming. Emberwing watched their approach with eyes like molten gold.

  "Easy," Miranda said softly. "Emberwing, these are allies. Clive and Lucia."

  The dragon's nostril flared, drawing in their scent.

  "Hold out your hand," Guma instructed from beside them. "Let him get a proper sense of you."

  Clive extended his hand slowly. Emberwing's massive head lowered, and the dragon's snout pressed against his palm. The scales were warm and harder than steel. The dragon's breath washed over him, blowing hot air over his face.

  Then Emberwing pulled back and settled his head on his forepaws, apparently satisfied.

  Lucia stepped forward next. Emberwing repeated the process, then huffed, a sound that might have been approval.

  "Good," Miranda said. "Stormscale and Verdant next."

  They repeated the introductions with the other two dragons. Each had a distinct presence. Stormscale was cooler to the touch while Verdant emanated a deep, earthy patience that reminded Clive of ancient forests.

  By the time they'd finished, the sun had climbed higher. The camp bustled with increased activity as units prepared for the day's drills and preparations.

  Miranda turned to face them fully. "You've met the dragons. You've seen what they're capable of." She paused, letting that sink in. "But before we can discuss your roles in the coming campaign, there's something you need to understand about how this corps operates."

  She gestured toward the three resting dragons, their scales catching the sunlight. "Every rider you see here earned their bond through trial. Guma nearly burned to death before Emberwing accepted him. Yara spent three days in the wilderness tracking Stormscale before the dragon even acknowledged her presence, which brings us to our first mission. We are inducting our newest dragon rider."

  Clive glanced around the assembled group, counting the riders, then back to Miranda with confusion. Before he could ask, Prince Sion stepped forward.

  "His Highness has been training for this moment since childhood," Miranda continued, her tone carrying a reverence that hadn't been there moments before. "The question was never if he would bond with a dragon, but which dragon was worthy of him. Before we enter Vandiel territory, His Highness must complete his bonding."

  "The Dragon King," Sion muttered. “That is the only dragon worthy of this war. The only one worthy of what's coming.”

  “It will not be easy,” Miranda added. “The Dragon King is ancient. Powerful beyond measure. In the history of San Dioral, the Dragon King has never been bonded. Most believe he would never accept a bond."

  "Most are wrong," Sion said. "I will prove it so."

  Louis stepped forward. "The dragon lands lie across the North Sea. It will take two weeks to get there. We'll take a small detachment, the Third Squadron, plus our specialists." His eyes found Clive and Lucia. "The Dragon King's territory is dangerous even without attempting a bonding. Consider this your first real test."

  "What exactly does a bonding involve?" Clive asked.

  "Pain. Fear. Fire." Miranda gestured toward Emberwing, who raised his head slightly at the attention. "When Guma bonded with Emberwing, he was burned so badly we thought he'd die. The dragon's trial tests everything. If you're found wanting, you burn.’

  "How many have tried?" Lucia asked softly.

  "Seven princes over the last century," Sion answered, his voice steady. "None succeeded. Three died. Four survived but were deemed unworthy. They were never able to approach the Dragon King again." He met Clive's eyes. "I will be the eighth. And I will succeed."

  "We depart at dawn," Louis announced. "Be prepared for it."

  Miranda addressed her riders. "Full combat loadout. Emberwing, Stormscale, and Verdant need to be at peak condition. I want harnesses checked twice, provisions secured, and all weapons sharpened." She turned to Clive and Lucia. "You two. Find the quartermaster. Tell him Miranda sent you. He'll issue you field gear appropriate for the terrain." She glanced at the sky, gauging the sun's position. "We're burning daylight. Move."

  The group began to disperse. Emberwing raised his head and released a low, rumbling call that echoed across the encampment.

  The dragon lands awaited.

  The Dragon King has waited four hundred years, they say. What does an ancient creature wait for, if not worthiness? What does fire judge, if not the strength of what remains when everything else has turned to ash?"

  — From The Chronicles of Flame and Bond, Royal Archives of San Dioral