The Dragon's Call

Part I - FORTUNE || Chapter I - The Letter

I wake up surrounded by plants. Again.

The interior of my tower is a veritable jungle. Ivy snakes up the stone walls, twining around wooden beams and draping across the ceiling like a verdant curtain. Pink tulips bloom in cheerful clusters atop the stone windowsills, their petals catching the morning light. Nearby, menacing flytraps stand guard by the window, their gaping maws poised to snap shut on any unsuspecting insect that dares to venture too close. The air is thick with the scent of earth, damp and rich, mingling with the sweet perfume of the flowers.

I've long since accepted that I must be growing these plants in my sleep. Given that I've had Aucirceus powers since birth, it's not entirely implausible. But as I look around at the riot of greenery that has taken over my once orderly room, a wry thought crosses my mind: one day, I half-expect to wake up bound to my bed by thorny vines, completely unable to escape. If that happened, would anyone even hear my cries for help? Not that it would matter—my sister Charity certainly wouldn't bother coming to my aid.

Thankfully, today isn't that day. Instead of waking up tangled in greenery, I find myself slumped over my desk, which has become my bed for the night. The polished oak surface is strewn with papers and books, illuminated by the pale light filtering through the window. An open book on Aucircies serves as my pillow, the pages crinkled beneath the weight of my head. I vaguely recall staying up late reading—again, something that has become a habit of mine.

Judging by the warm, golden light streaming through the window, it's around 9:30 in the morning. The sun is just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting long shadows across the room and bathing everything in a gentle, amber glow. The early spring air is crisp and cool, yet the sunlight brings a comforting warmth that I welcome against my shoulders. I inhale deeply, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the lingering chill of the night.

Groaning, I push myself up and glance down at the book beneath my arms. The cobalt-blue cover is worn and faded, the edges frayed from countless readings. The same shade of blue decorates the band on my wrist, a symbol of the Aucircies. The words on the page blur together as I rub my sleepy eyes, trying to focus on the text that I've already read countless times.

"Aucircies are individuals who carry the special magic gene of their ancestral dragon," I mumble to myself as I read. "They were once very common, but are now becoming increasingly rare."

I've read this passage a hundred times before, but that doesn't stop me from going over it again. My sister and I both qualify as Aucircies, though we couldn't be more different. The book is old and well-loved, the pages crackling as I turn them. I could probably recite it from memory by now. "Their powers are dependent on their ancestor dragon, yet not all descendants share the same abilities. These differences in magic within Kingdoms are called Subcircies."

If you haven't guessed by now from my endless complaining, my Subcirce is plants. All plants. Too many plants. The technical term for my ability is Verdancer, one of the most common Subcircies in Rykre. But I scored a ten on the Aucirce scale, meaning I'm practically overflowing with magic, teetering on the edge of collapse at any moment.

Charity, on the other hand, literally makes things collapse. Her Subcirce is Quakemaster, and she's kept in a tower high up in the sky to prevent her from causing an earthquake that might destroy the castle. Truth be told, she didn't score nearly as high as I did on the Aucirce scale, so I'm not sure why everyone treats her as such a threat. From my own tower, I can see hers clearly. If I squint, I can even see her library through the window—a library she never uses.

Despite the signs she's posted—"Go away, Seeker!" and "Keep out!"—I occasionally sneak into her tower to borrow a book or two. Not that she'd ever notice. Charity isn't much of a reader; she's more of a brooder. I'm not even sure she likes me.