The Dragon's Master

Chapter 1 | Night Before The Choosing

Sarah WillowTree's POV

The day has finally come. The day of my generation's choosing.

I spend most of my lonely days training and getting ready for whatever comes. I just hope that training for six hours a day was enough. My dream was always to be a part of the Angels. If I am a part of the Angels I would need to be swift, strong, and I would need to have very precise skills with a bow and arrow.

There is rumour that the Angels had a big role in the Monarchy that used to rule over every group and every bit of land here. But, that story is for another time...

I sit in the dorm room I was given to sleep in over the night before The Choosing. I was given one to stay in alone, since I'm considered an Ungifted. This is because my parents are dead and I was only young when they died, so it is assumed that I have no gift, as I never got brought up with them. This caused me to immediately be cast out among the Gifted, considering this. But, this, The Choosing, is what will finally drag me out of the cursed life of the Ungifted.

I fiddle with the hem of my worn shirt, gazing endlessly at the uniform in front of me, strewn across the already-made bed. I will have to dress in the formal, dark grey colours of the uniform. Its contents consist of a black t-shirt, dark grey jacket, dark grey leggings, and black boots.

"Lights out, Gifted." A voice says from the halls. I pop my head out from the room door to see the stern face of the Demonic looking down the halls of dorm rooms at each of the faces that appeared from their dorms. He has slicked back deathly black hair that seems a light red in the glow of the overhanging lights, blood red eyes and two sharp fangs seem to complete the evidence that he's a Demonic. "And," His face goes sour, already dark features somehow darkening further as he looks at me, "Ungifted." His throat seems to let out a hiss by the end of the word, as if he's disgusted by just my presence. Although, I don't feel hurt from this. I'm used to that sour, disgusted look that people send my way. I'm used to this. I don't dare respond as he turns his back and he blurs from speed, followed by a darkness mixed with a blood red colour as he travels using his swiftness through the halls to inform the others to sleep.

I slowly and silently shut the door to my room, forgetting about the Demonic's actions towards me. He doesn't matter to me. He can do what he wants and he can continue to pretend he's so high and mighty, but I sure will love to see his face when I find my Gift tomorrow.

He'll regret how he treats me. Everyone will.

Slowly, I pull the sheets on my bed back and just as my back hits the soft surface of the bed, the lights go out in my room.

It's only a matter of time, before I find my true Gift.

Only a few more hours...

~*-*-*~

Darius TerryReed's POV

Perhaps, it's just the excitement to finally find my own Gift, but I can't fall asleep no matter what I do. I hold a pillow over my head and drag the blankets up into a pile beneath my head. Basically, my entire upper is drowning in blankets and pillows. I do find this strange position pretty comfortable... For about three seconds.

I grunt in defeat and kick the pile of comfort to the edge of my bed and it rolls off on it's own. There's the sound of rustling sheets from the other two beds. "Darius," A gruff voice says. I instantly look up to see one of the other guys glaring at me, "Stop moving around so much." He turns over and flops back down, and immediately, snoring follows.

Taking that as my hundredth warning, I slowly- very, very slowly- move to lie back down again on my bare bed. No sheets. No pillows.

I regret my decisions immediately.

I close my eyes and they snap open straight away. So, instead, I reach an arm up and nestle my head in the crook of my elbow. My messy dark- almost black- hair is brushing against my arm with every breath.

Nope.

I quietly and slowly reach for the bundle of comfort on the old, creaky, wooden floors, and I grab it successfully. Although, to my horror, the only pillow catches on a splintering floorboard and is dispersed from the rest of the bunch. I groan in irritation and failure. Why does this have to happen to me?

"Shut up, you idiot!" One of the other guys exclaim in a hissing whisper.

"Sorry!" I hiss back, reaching for the pillow in that moment and tugging it towards me.

At the moment, my entire body is draped across half the bed and half the floor. What was my uniform for The Choosing tomorrow is now somewhere in this room.

Suddenly, I hear the tearing of fabric. My eyes widen when I look up and see one of the threads of the pillow got caught on a splinter and has torn half of the pillow up. "Nooo..." I barely whisper, dropping my head- face into the mattress- back down onto my bed.

Giving up, I drop the torn up pillow over the splinter and covering the rope of thread that was ripped from it. This isn't even my stuff and I've destroyed it. The instructors already hate the group I'm in in the dorm because we broke a bedside table when we tried to make a hot air balloon with a deflated balloon, three paperclips, and two strings. Let's just say, that didn't turn out how we thought it would. And, don't ask why we had that stuff, because I have no idea.

Lying back down on my uncomfortable mattress, I try to fall asleep once again.

Just a couple... more... years...