Evalon has read about dragons her whole life. Everyone has. But when Evalon finds herself in the very village where they train and fly these dragons, her life is turned upside down and backwards before she can say, "Fire!"
It's been said that everything is intertwined; woven like a cloth so that every thin, individual thread touches the myriad of others, and everything that happens to each thread has an impact on all the neighboring ones. It's also been said that the past has a way of catching up to the present, ever looming in shadows-- quiet places of reality where no one wants to look, hidden so well that one does not even realize that it's there until it is too late. The past is patient and cunning, lurking and waiting for the right moment to strike at the present, pulling and tugging maliciously at the delicate fabric of existence.
When this cloth is disturbed, the world cannot handle the imbalance and uncertainty that is the result of tampering. Consequently, Fate sends someone to correct things. Sometimes whom Fate sends may not always be the most likely or obvious selection. But Fate has been keeping the order of the world for a long time, and she knows her business. Fate sends heroes, unlikely as these heroes may sometimes seem, and it is down to these heroes to mend the intricate and delicate calico that has been disturbed by the harsh hands of life. They are tasked with restoring order to life itself. Often this burden falls upon the shoulders of those who appear too weak to bear it. But none, no matter how great, is born a hero. Heroes are created and molded from the disturbances in the cloth of life. It is what shapes them and makes them heroes. Like swords, heroes are cast into the furnace, hammered and shaped. This process is repeated, and in time, both the sword and the hero become strong enough to perform the duties that Fate has declared they shall fulfill.
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The gentle rain outside pitter-pattered softly on the glass window of Evalon's classroom. It was a soft rain, more of a slight drizzle, and the sound had a relaxing effect on her. The sky outside was a light gray, and a slight mist began to settle over the atmosphere. It was her favorite kind of day; the kind of day that, if she were home, would sit in her window seat with a long novel with a blanket draped over her legs.
But Evalon was not home: she was at school. All around her students of all shapes and sizes bent down low over papers, pencils scribbling notes in scrawls of varying forms of neatness. Some were tapping pencils against desks or palms, while others were gazing blankly ahead, comprehension of the world around faded.
Mr. Burachel was a short, thin man with arms like noodles and hair that was dark and wispy. He was standing in front of the whiteboard, speaking on the history of the dragons.
"Can anyone tell me which dragon species was the first to be domesticated?" he asked.
Not a hand rose in the air.
"No one? None?"
Evalon was working up the courage to raise her hand when her attention was pulled from her teacher as a deep, loud roar broke the silence of the classroom. Several heads quickly shot up from their notes at the sound, looking up at the ceiling as if they could see through it, or at the water-covered windows.
"Return your attention to the board, please," the nasally voice of Mr. Burachel said from the front of the room.
The students tried to obey, but another roar sounded, distracting them again.
