The Five Realms

Chapter 19: Beanca II

Chapter 19: Blood of the Wild

Emeraldsa crouched low in the grass, scales glimmering in deep green light, her breath slow and steady as a heartbeat. The leaves barely stirred, but Beanca knew her dragon was poised to leap. She didn't need words, didn't need touch. She just knew.

Across the field, the others were laughing and swearing under their breath as they practiced mounting and dismounting their dragons—no easy feat now that the hatchlings were no longer hatchlings. At just three weeks, each dragon was nearly the size of a small horse, with long, developing wings and overactive pride.

"Again," Murtagh barked, standing with arms crossed, shadow cast long in the afternoon light. "No flailing. No fumbling. If they lose balance, you could snap a rib."

Steven groaned as Ares bucked slightly beneath him, singeing a bush with a burst of heatless flame. "You do that on purpose," he muttered. Ares snorted in what could only be smug amusement.

Fate was struggling. Her golden dragon flickered in and out of its glamour spell like a faulty light bulb, wings drooping slightly with exhaustion. Chyna moved with sharp grace as she tested Lavendel's tail strength, the dragon weaving midair with impossible smoothness. Beanca caught it all peripherally.

But her focus never left Emeraldsa.

"Now," Beanca said softly, not a command but an understanding. With no more signal than the narrowing of her eyes, Emeraldsa lunged forward.

Beanca pivoted with practiced instinct, catching the arch of Emeraldsa's back and swinging her leg high. She landed low on her dragon's shoulders—imperfect, but solid.

They stayed there a moment, silent, connected.

Just one week ago, during a climb over the rocky back ridge near the western grove, she'd slipped. A crack in the stone. No footing. And before she'd even shouted, Emeraldsa's tail had wrapped around her waist, strong and sure, setting her gently on the ground.

Not a word had passed between them.

Today, they didn't need a word.

Across the field, Joey and Chyna sparred with their usual chaos—like fire and water, clashing without ever extinguishing each other. Chyna's fighting style was coiled and angular, fast as a thrown knife. Joey was broad, bracing, patient in his power. The clash between them was almost beautiful—two perfectly mismatched minds constantly predicting and reacting, like twin stars colliding again and again.

Beanca had watched them all week, studying them—envying them, even.

They fought like siblings, but the way they read each other... it was eerie.

Their swords rang in the air, but not a word was exchanged. They sparred entirely through glances, muscle memory, and some freakish twin-link that required no voice at all. It looked like competition. It felt like war. It was undeniably balanced.

But it wasn't what she had with Joey.

Beanca's hand brushed Emeraldsa's side, her eyes drifting toward Joey again. He stood back now, breathing heavily, laughing with Chyna. His smile never looked that free—except maybe when he was with her.

Beanca closed her eyes, grounding herself in the feel of dragonhide beneath her palm.

"We're not from the same blood," she thought, "but we move like we might be."

Emeraldsa huffed, the air warm against her cheek. The bond deepened—not in words, not in thoughts, but in rhythm.

Theirs was a bond built in silence.