𝑮𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑬𝑵 𝑺𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫

PART 1 OF CHAPTER 1

"a dragon without its rider is a tragedy,
a rider without their dragon is dead. "

BEL TAURI

I look out my window, admiring the orangey glow of the morning sun. Today is the day- Conscription day. Well, that, and probably my last day living. Maybe the sun is shining so brightly for me, one last contribution of light before my soul is condemned to Malek- although I'm trying not to remind myself of that right now.

I hear the door to my room give its familiar creak- an old signal that it's been opened, that somebody's coming in. Although this time,
I dont need to turn to know who it is. my father. I can tell by the way he walks, how he carries himself, even around his own family. Important. Respected. Feared.

Because that's how people see you when you kill all ' traitors of the kingdom ' leaving 107 kids to watch as each of their parents are exiled for one ' noble Kings ' safety. Sometimes I think all he really cares about is his image. Probably why once my fainting and 'dizzy spells' started, he stopped letting me come with him places. Unlike my younger brother. Always the favourite after I turned 12.

And now I'm 18, forced to keep the family riders tradition alive, two years underage, all because less and less dragons have started coming to threshing each year, and, of course, my fathers impatient. Always has been. Sending out me and my brothers one by one - first Halden, then Alec, and once ive gone? Cams next.

"Beautiful sunrise this morning, isn't it, bel? " His voice rumbled calmly behind me, as if It wasn't the day I was about to die.

" Guess so. " I replied curtly, tightening the straps of my canvas bag. He isn't getting a good reaction from me, whether I'm blacked out on the floor from a dizzy spell, or dead before I reach the riders quadrant. Even if im perfectly fine- which I won't be, because I'm fucked, and black dots are already dancing around my eyes, which really lessens the chances.

I feel him put a heavy hand onto my left shoulder.
" Bel, you and me both know that i wouldn't be making you do this if I wasn't 100% sure I knew you could make it. "
i feel something in me snap, white - hot anger spreading through my veins as I turn to him, swatting his hand away.

" you think I can make it to the riders quadrant, but can't go out in public without fainting in front of everyone?! I could FALL OFF OF parapet, but to you it'd only matter if it would affect your status."

his eyes turned stone cold.
" you really are your father's daughter, arent you? Now, do you want my help or not? Because, if you don't remember, I was the one who gave you those leathers and boots, understand? "
I stand up too quickly, way too annoyed to be careful.

And of course, the world spins, and I have to grab onto the wall for support.
" fine." I force out through gritted teeth

he checks through my pack one last time, fixes my now chopped- to- my - head- curls with a wired headband, and hands me his own golden sword before finally saying,

" You can do this, bel, " then - " and please remember, General Sorrengail is down there. So hold your head up high and dont embarrass me. "

and so, with the amount of 3 years in training, I still ultimately struggle with carrying myself up six flights of stairs- taking big gulps of air just as my knees threaten to give out on me, and leave me blacked out on a stone staircase. Because that's the best way to make an entrance to anybody else trudging their way up to the gates.

Finally, I reach the top, and, as I said before, I am so fucked. Thousands of twenty year olds wait outside the gate. All tough, strong and smart wait outside for their chosen quadrant.
Ive had to remind myself that I'm going to Basgisth war college repeatedly through the morning- and this place isn't known for being kind to anyone. A part of the Tauri family or from the streets, you're all treated like weapons. Because here? That's what you're trained to be. To become.
Every Navarrian officer, wether they choose to be schooled as healers, scribes, infantry or riders, is molded within these haunting walls over three years, honed into villainous weapons to protect from the attacks of the violent invasion attempts from the rivaling kingdom Poromiel and their gryphon riders.

The weak don't survive here - and if anyone makes sure of that, it's the dragons.
Through my nerves, I hear muffled shouting thundering from General Sorrengails office. Not even my own father - who's a king - can stand up to that woman. The only one who could, though? Her own daughter. The fearless, powerful Mira sorrengail. At twenty six years old, she's a younger version of her mother. She's tall, with strong, powerful muscles toned from years of sparring and hundreds of hours spent on the back of her dragon. Her skin practically glows with health
( something I've always envied as an olive skinned ghost ) and her golden brown hair is sheared short for combat, like mine, except she doesn't possess the same dark curls.

That girl is a rider through and through.

I turn, because at the moment, there really is nothing better to do, just to see a small girl with a long, brown braid with gorgeous silvering edges down the side of her head. I examined her, hoping it wasn't too obvious how much i was staring. Pale skin. Pale eyes. Pale hair. Unlike her mother and sister, she looks built for a scribe - short, frail - something we both have in common, except it's normal for me because I look my age. It's hard to mistaken her when her iconic look gives her away. Violet sorrengail. The youngest of the generals 3 children.

With no idea what she's doing with a riders pack, I decide the best thing to do is stay very far away- because everyone watching her force the heavy oak doors handle down knows a family storms brewing. Her pack shifts forward, almost tipping her over as she slips inside, and the voices quiet down- right before they start back up again for the next twenty minutes.

Soon enough, mira is the first one sent out, cheeks red with anger and a small pack by her side.
Violets next, eyes widened with shock and a tint of pink to her complexion with humiliation. A guard closes the door on her way out. Both girls make their back down the stone stairs, probably going to either of their rooms, and, what felt like a year later, the 45 minute bell boomed above us, taunting thousands of us about our fate as riders.

45 minutes left.
Am I ready?

Funny. Nope.