The Five Realms

Chapter 17: Steven II

Chapter 17: Red Sparks

The late afternoon sun bled gold through the canopy, casting long dappled shadows across the clearing. It smelled of crushed pine, warm moss, and ozone. In the center of the forest hollow, the dragon circle had been drawn with chalk and char—its runes and outer boundary constantly scuffed and re-traced by claw, foot, and tail.

Steven Parker crouched just inside the ring, sweat trickling down his brow as he focused on Ares.

"Okay, bud—hover, tilt left, then drop low and hit that 'X.' You got this."

Ares—his crimson-scaled Emberback—flicked his short wings, tail twitching with anticipation. Barely larger than a Maine Coon now, he still moved like a boulder with legs: compact, muscular, every muscle coiled.

The little dragon launched into the air with a grunt, wings kicking up dirt as he spun—too hard—and skidded awkwardly into the fern line, knocking over a low mushroom cluster with a surprised grunt.

Steven winced. "Not bad. But your left wing's still lagging on the snapback." He offered a palm, and Ares returned, proud despite the fumble.

Nearby, the rest of the team was deep in their own drills. Chyna stood in controlled stance, guiding Lavendel—her violet-scaled Twilightseer—through a hovering spiral. The dragon moved with eerie grace, ribbons of her tail weaving shapes in the air.

Steven's gaze drifted to Joey and Beanca. Paired off under Murtagh's distant, silent observation, they were practicing sword forms—new to it, clumsy in places, but... in sync. Like dancers who didn't know they were falling in love yet. The way Joey moved, Rohan circling like a white flame at his side, and the way Beanca answered his rhythm—Emeraldsa stalking around her feet like a forest-born shadow—it was more than sparring.

They mirrored each other. Not perfectly. But naturally.

They still stumbled, tripped over stances, forgot a step or overreached a swing. But somehow, the flaws made it more obvious—they were learning together. Fast. Like prodigies being pulled by the same invisible thread.

Steven frowned, squinting, watching the subtle moments between them—the near-smiles they didn't realize they gave, the way Beanca's shoulders softened when Joey corrected her form, how his expression flickered whenever she laughed under her breath.

He looked away before it made him feel anything more.

In the shade at the clearing's edge, Fate crouched cross-legged with Goldenia draped across her lap like a lazy cat made of light. The golden hatchling had fallen asleep again, her wings twitching at dream-thoughts.

Steven ambled over and dropped beside her with a grin. "Hey. You gonna join the rest of us or keep holding court with Queen Nap-a-lot?"

Fate didn't laugh. She sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "She doesn't want to train. Every time I try, she just... lays down. I think I got the broken one."

Steven glanced down at Goldenia, who cracked open one iridescent eye, blinked, then resumed snoring.

"She's not broken," Steven said gently. "She's you."

Fate frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean," he continued, pulling a blade of grass between his fingers, "you don't move unless it matters. You act slow, but you think deep. She's the same. Bet once she moves, no one can stop her."

Fate looked at him for a beat, then smirked faintly. "You just made that up."

"Yep. But it sounds good, doesn't it?"