Dragon's fire

The ceremony

The fire is burning bright and fierce. After almost nine hours of burning, it has finally reached it's peak. It won't be long now. The egg, barely visibly on top of the pyre, starts to glow around the dark red handprint. The blood of the rider. My blood. I look at my hand. I don't feel the cut anymore, after nine hours. The same goes for my legs. First, it was a slight cramp, which got worse and worse until they went completely numb. I don't know how I manage to remain standing, but I was afraid that it would become a bit embarrassing when I had to start walking again, which would not be long from now. But it would all be worth it. Soon, I'd have my own dragon. It's a tradition. When a son of a Dragon Warrior reaches his twelfth birthday, he deserves his dragon egg. A dragon egg is about the size of a grown men's head and has a red yellowish colour, which shines like a fire. As a part of the ceremony, the boy has to carry the egg to the pyre. The shell of the egg is so thick that only dragon's fire can hatch it. Once arrived at the pyre, Borgen, the Dragonpriest, makes a cut in the twelve year old's left hand, with a knive made from dragon bone, and gently presses it on the egg. This way, the unborn dragon will know who it's rider is. Once the egg is on top of the four meters high pile of wood, the father's dragon will lit the pyre. But for me it's different. My father is king Wymar, king of Fiboka, a he does not have a dragon. Only Dragon Warriors get a dragon, and since the king is to busy ruling the kingdom, he can't be a Dragon Warrior. Neither can his oldest son and crown prince, my brother Robert. But there is still Dragon Warrior blood flowing through our veins, so any other sons of the king get the change to become a Dragon Warrior. And that's why I stand here tonight, waiting for my dragon egg to hatch. My pyre was lit by the general's dragon. For many young boys, it would be an honor. General Bjorn Raagor was a famous man, known for his bravery and strategy. But for me, not so much. The general didn't like me, even despises me. Probably because of my changes to get a high rank in the army without having to prove myself worthy. Perks of being the king's son. Bjorn Raagor had to prove himself and fought many battles to get to where he was now. Or maybe he got it from my father. He wasn't very fond of me either. My mother died shortly after giving birth to me, and he blames me for her death. He loves Robert very much though. But who doesn't. He is handsome and charming. The perfect prince. Every girl in the kingdom is in love with him. I on the other hand, have a ordinary face. One that you forget as soon as you look away from it. But at least Robert is kind to me. He even respects me. He knows very well that I will be the one that's protects him when he becomes king. I will be trained to become a skilled warrior, while he might only learn how to handle a short sword. Robert stayed here for the full nine hours, while father left after all the ceremonies he was traditionally obligatory to attend were over. He will probably return any minute now, since the egg is about to hatch. I look at Robert, and he smiles at me. The egg was glowing brightly now. Soon, the pyre will give in under it's weight. I see my father return from the palace, surrounded by guards and servants. He takes his place in between Robert and the priest. Then, the pyre collapses with a lot of noise. Sparks jump from the ashes, then the flames extinguish. For a few seconds, it is completely silent. I'm holding my breath. Suddenly, a high pitched shriek comes from the thick smoke, and my dragon emerges from the ashes. It's bigger than usual. About the size of a bulldog. I walk to the remains of the pyre, ignoring my numb legs, and lean towards it. The dragon recognizes me as it's rider and jumps on my arm. I rise, and from the crowd come shouts of disbelief. My dragon is beautiful. It's scales are pitch black with white gold lines around it's head and wings. The priest start to mumble some prayers in the Old language but I don't hear it. All I see is my dragon. I look into it's liquid golden eyes and realize we have a bond that will last forever. It feels almost magical. Our stare is interrupted by Thom, the weapons master. 'He still needs a name,' he says. I think about is for a while, but then say without doubt: 'Onyx, his name is Onyx.'