Chapter 11

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 "For the next 13 weeks, you will be exposed to the miseries and grueling realities you will face on the front lines," the dragon drill sergeant bellows as he paces before us. Fifty dragons, including me, stand in perfect rows. As Suirauqa mentioned, most are female, but only ten are male. "You will bleed! You will moan! You will cry!" he shouts. "Does anyone feel like backing out?"

No one moves. No one even sighs.

"Good! Because you have no choice in the matter! You leave, your rider leaves! And you'll be the shame of Dragonfell!"

His voice is rough, like gravel scraping against my ears, as if he's been shouting orders for years. "Though, of course..." He pauses, then turns his eyes directly on me. "Some of you might have an easier time!"

I freeze as his gaze pins me down. This can't be good.

"Recruit! Front and center now!" he barks.

Heart pounding like a jackhammer, I cautiously approach the line.

"What's your name!?"

"E-Eitan, sir."

"I ask again! What's your name!?" He shouts straight into my ear.

"My name is Eitan! Sir!" I shout, straightening my posture.

"And where do you come from? Who is your family!?" His tone sharpens, almost as if he's accusing me of something. The other dragons are already watching me, eyes narrowing.

"I was raised by Suirauqa, sir!"

His face softens for a moment. "Ahh. Old General Suirauqa, huh?" Then his expression hardens as he turns to the line. "And is it true you've had specialized training by our own Suirauqa and Drena?"

Whispers break out along the line. Some dragons gawk at me, others glare. A few wrinkle their noses in disgust. I swallow hard.

"That's correct, sir."

The drill sergeant smiles sinisterly like he's enjoying making me the pariah. "And is it also true that you skipped the entrance exam because of this special treatment?"

I can already feel the heat of resentment. Dragons' jaws clench, and a few bare their teeth.

"Yes, sir," I admit, my tail thumping nervously.

The drill sergeant grins, but it's anything but friendly.

"You see?" he says, addressing the entire line. "Recruit Eitan here thinks he's better than everyone else. Stronger! Faster! All because he's had extra training none of you had the privilege of receiving! And you think that's FAIR to the rest of you!? You think it's right!?"

A low rumble of growls spreads through the line. Claws dig into the dirt, eyes narrow. This is a disaster. I haven't been here an hour, and they already hate me. A low, angry murmur ripples through the ranks. Someone growls under their breath, "Yeah, unfair doesn't even cut it..."

"Sergeant, that's not—" I begin.

"Recruit!" the sergeant snaps, lunging toward me. His jaws snap shut inches from my face. "As you were!"

I cringe, my mouth shutting as fast as his.

"Look at him! Trained by legends!" he starts to pace, "and here you are! Still learning to fly like a bunch of hatchlings!" He spits at them. "You better step up because Beowulf doesn't care who trained you! They want to kill you, mount your head on a spike, and feast on your remains! You hear that!?"

Blood pounds in my ears. My heart races, my mind scrambling for some way to fix this. But it's too late. I've been marked. Is Keith getting similar treatment? Is his instructor even more of a jerk?

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