I patted Nyxala’s side as I finished setting up camp. We weren’t even halfway up the mountain yet, and already a day had passed. At this rate, the climb would take a week, maybe longer. I let out a heavy sigh and struck flint to kindling, coaxing a small fire to life.

  “Well, girl,” I said, giving her scales a firm scratch. “Still a lot of mountain left to conquer. You staying warm?”

  She puffed out her chest and let out a low hum, exuding her usual quiet confidence. I smiled, then glanced back over my shoulder, toward where the others would be, though the thick forest and winding slope had long since hidden them from view.

  I hoped they were alright.

  Just as I reached for my pack, a wave of unease swept over me. It came without warning, no sound, no movement, just the sudden prickle of instinct, like something had shifted in the air.

  Nyxala shifted beside me, her posture tense, her eyes alert. She felt it too.

  I rested a hand gently on her neck. “Easy, girl. Just a few more days, and we’ll be back with them before we know it.” My voice was calm, but my gut churned. “I miss them too… especially her.”

  Her luminous eye locked with mine, steady and sharp. There was understanding in it. Worry, too.

  “We have to trust them to take care of themselves,” I said quietly, half to her, half to myself. “We rest now… and tomorrow, we fly like hell. That is… if you can keep up.”

  She straightened and puffed up again, fins flaring, scales catching the firelight in a ripple of shifting hues. A challenge accepted.

  “Atta girl.” I chuckled, easing myself down onto my bedroll. The fire cracked beside me, casting flickering shadows on the snow-dusted ground.

  I lay there for a long moment, staring toward the dark canopy below. My eyes searched the trees, even knowing I wouldn’t find anything there.

  Still… I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  I woke the next morning to find Nyxala hovering nearby, gently swaying in her lulled sleeping state. The moment my eyes opened, hers did too. She gave a quick shake of her head, clearing the sleep from her gaze.

  “I’ll get this cleaned up and we’ll get moving,” I said, rubbing the lingering weariness from my face as I sat up.

  Rolling up my bedroll, I packed away the last of our camp and stomped out the remains of the fire. I could’ve just stored everything in my inventory, easier, quicker, but something about strapping the pack to my back and climbing the mountain the old-fashioned way felt... right. Even with my armor on, the weight didn’t bother me. In fact, it grounded me.

  A nod was all it took. Nyxala lifted slightly in response, fins flexing as she prepared to ascend. The morning was quiet, the mountain still veiled in mist.

  I adjusted my pack and exhaled a slow breath. “Alright, let’s climb.”

  Nyxala took the lead without hesitation, her fins flaring as she hovered toward the base of the nearest ridge. For a moment, I wondered how she’d manage, there wasn’t a clear path, just jagged ledges and a near-vertical slope. But then, she moved.

  It wasn’t like flying. It was something else entirely.

  With a powerful thrust of her tail, she surged upward, her movements fluid and precise. Her body coiled and pivoted like a serpent in water, except there was no water, just air and stone. She didn’t flap her fins like wings; instead, they shifted and adjusted for balance and propulsion, letting her flow between gaps in the cliff face with effortless grace.

  Her tail curled around jutting rocks like anchors, launching her higher. When her hooved forelimbs touched a ledge, they barely paused, just enough for her to coil again and spring forward, always climbing, always rising.

  I blinked. "Okay... showoff," I muttered with a grin, already running after her.

  I kicked off from the ledge below and started my own ascent, armor clinking softly with each leap. It wasn’t a race, until it was.

  Nyxala turned back mid-climb, her massive eyes gleaming with challenge. She let out a musical hum that practically screamed catch me if you can before launching into a full sprint up the vertical cliffside.

  “Oh, it’s on.”

  I followed, pushing off with every ounce of strength I had, vaulting from ledge to ledge, the mountain air rushing past me. She darted ahead like a phantom streak of light and scale, weaving between outcroppings, her mane of fins trailing like ribbons behind her.

  She didn’t fly. She danced with the stone.

  And me? I laughed like a lunatic as I chased her, knowing full well I had no hope of winning, but damn if I wasn’t going to try.

  Nyxala shot another glance back at me, and I could practically feel her smug satisfaction. I smirked in return.

  The halo at my back flared to life with a crackle of light, and I launched forward like a bullet, streaking past her in a blur.

  “Didn’t expect that, did you?” I called back, laughing as the wind roared in my ears.

  She responded with a sharp, playful hum, but it was the shimmer along her scales that caught my attention. They flared, lightning blue and deep violet, rippling with energy I hadn’t seen from her before. And then she moved.

  She surged upward with explosive speed, her body coiling and twisting with power, her fins flaring wider, her entire form radiant with some inner brilliance. Whatever magic lived in her blood had just decided to show off.

  And suddenly, the mountain wasn’t an obstacle, it was a playground.

  We darted up its face like streaks of light, bounding from ledge to ledge with a grace that made gravity feel like a rumor. Each leap, each push, each flare of my halo or pulse from her shimmering fins launched us higher, faster, until the idea of climbing felt laughable.

  What I thought would take days was proving to be much faster than anticipated. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the cold returned with a creeping bite, subtle at first, but undeniable even for me. I decided it was best to stop for the night and found a flat ledge with just enough space to camp, offering a breathtaking overlook of the world far below.

  Even at this height, I couldn’t spot any trace of our camp. If they had a fire going, the thick trees obscured it well. I turned my eyes upward, toward the jagged peak still looming above.

  “If we keep up that pace tomorrow, we’ll reach it before nightfall,” I said with a grin, glancing at Nyxala. “Still warm? Or do you need Virellia and me to kick on the aura?”

  If the cold had started to bother me, the others would’ve been suffering long ago had they come. But Nyxala gave a low, steady hum, her usual reassurance. I reached over and patted her side.

  “No worries, girl. I’ll get a fire going at least. That should keep both of us comfortable.”

  I pulled a small bundle of firewood from my inventory and set about building a teepee structure with kindling at the center. Flint in hand, I knelt to strike a few sparks near the base.

  Of course, right as I was about to light it… nature had other plans.

  A sudden gust tore through the ledge, howling down the cliffside and ripping the carefully stacked wood straight off the edge. I watched helplessly as the entire setup vanished into the darkness below.

  “Well,” I muttered, standing slowly, “that’s unfortunate.”

  Nyxala moved to the cliff wall above and huddled close to it, shielding herself from the wind that had nearly swept her off the edge along with my firewood. Quick reflexes and natural agility made the wind her temporary enemy, but not her conqueror.

  I followed, settling beside her near the base of the wall. The wind still howled, but it was muted here, gentler than before. Even so, I could see it was starting to wear on her. A subtle tremble worked its way through her scales.

  She was tough, tougher than I gave her credit for sometimes. But if I hadn’t had my racial resistance to the cold, this wind might have been my undoing too. The idea that Eessa climbed these peaks for fun? Unbelievable. How the hell did she even survive it?

  I spoke aloud so Nyxala could hear me clearly, “Virellia, I’m going to drop my armor. Let’s spread the…”

  A sharp hum cut me off.

  Nyxala shook her head in protest, a firm gesture full of stubborn pride.

  “Are... you sure?” I asked, concern slipping into my voice. “You’re shivering, girl.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Instead, she did something I didn’t expect.

  She hovered in close, curled herself under my arm, and lowered her body to the ground. Her head gently rested in my lap, her scaled sides slowly rising and falling with each breath.

  I blinked, stunned.

  Lepidomare could lay down?

  No one told me they could lay down.

  I carefully wrapped an arm over her and settled in beside her. The wind still whispered over us, but for now, this was as safe and warm as it was going to get.

  A new thought surged forward.

  Virellia, open up our connection to Max and Myrida.

  “It’s been open,” she replied softly. “But I haven’t heard from Myrida since last night.”

  My gut tightened.

  Max, is everything okay? I asked, fighting the rise of panic crawling up my spine.

  “It seems their side of the connection is cut off right now,” she answered, worry bleeding into her otherwise composed tone.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Could they be training? Or maybe doing some meditation thing like we do? I offered, reaching for excuses, anything to quiet the dread building in my chest.

  “That would be the only reason I can think of for them to intentionally close the link. But… it’s odd. Myrida would’ve told me if that were the case.”

  Let’s give them their privacy for now. I said, pushing the unease down. We need to stay focused on our climb. Let’s close the link until we descend. That way we’re not distracted, or paranoid.

  “You’re probably right,” she replied after a pause. “I’ll seal the mental pathway until we return.”

  Silence fell again, and the weight of worry faded just enough for sleep to take hold.

  I awoke to sunlight warming my face. Nyxala still rested beside me, her breathing deep and steady. She hadn’t stirred once in the night.

  “Hey girl,” I murmured, gently patting her neck, “sun’s up. Time to finish the climb.”

  She stirred slowly, then rose back into her hover.

  That’s when I noticed something had changed.

  Her scales shimmered not just with her usual deep blues and violet hues… but now, at the tips of each plate, faint streaks of glowing orange danced like firelight. It was subtle, barely visible. But it was there.

  “Did you get stronger in your sleep?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

  She puffed out her chest proudly in response.

  I couldn’t help but grin. “Great. Guess I’m in for the race of my life today.”

  I slid my pack into my inventory, stretched my limbs, and stepped up beside her. The cold still clung to the air, but it didn’t matter. Not now.

  My halo flared to life, radiant heat pulsing from my back and melting the snow beneath our feet.

  We both crouched low, side by side, our eyes locking. No words needed.

  “You ready?” I asked with a grin.

  She gave a short hum and lowered herself further, coils flexing.

  “Go!” I shouted.

  We launched skyward together, snow and dust exploding in our wake.

  We raced side by side, neither of us giving the other an inch. We leapt from jutting stones, bounding upward like dancers defying gravity. My boots barely touched each ledge before I kicked off again, occasionally using bursts of flight to launch myself further up the cliffs.

  At first, I felt guilty for using flight, it felt like cheating. But I would’ve fallen behind long ago without it. Over two hours into our climb, and Nyxala showed no signs of slowing. If anything, she pushed harder, her body glowing faintly as she hummed with joy every time we crossed paths on our ascent.

  Her tail snapped against the cliffside with every leap, cracking like a whip. It launched her higher with startling power, unfortunately destroying most of her footholds in the process. Which meant I had to find new ones every time.

  The sun hadn’t even reached its peak when we soared over a large flat outcropping… and then it happened.

  A sudden, booming roar erupted from below, shaking snow loose from the higher ridges. The sound jolted through me like a lightning strike. I turned mid-air and missed my next landing.

  “Shit…!” was all I got out before crashing into the cliffside.

  I tumbled, scraping and flipping down the rocky wall until I launched clear of the edge, freefalling toward the wide ledge below.

  And that’s when I saw it.

  A massive black dragon, perched like a living monument, glaring upward with golden eyes wide in disbelief.

  “Ah hell… heads up!” I shouted, plummeting toward the ancient beast.

  Before I could brace for impact, a streak of violet and blue burst through the mist. Nyxala rocketed beneath me, catching me mid-air with a grace that bordered on miraculous. She skidded to a halt on the snowy ledge, snow and dust exploding around us in a swirling cloud.

  I rolled off her back, heart racing, and threw my arms around her neck. “Dude! That was epic!” I shouted, grinning like a lunatic. She puffed out her chest, proud as ever.

  Then she gave me a look.

  “Oh no,” I laughed, catching on instantly. “You little turd. Fine. You win. But only because you saved my ass!”

  She let out a smug hum, her fins flaring wide as she strutted, hovering like she owned the mountain.

  Which, honestly, looked ridiculous… maybe even more humiliating than if she’d just walked like a regular horse.

  As I laughed, a booming voice echoed through the peak, so powerful it dropped me to my knees.

  Nyxala froze mid-strut and bowed her head low, showing immediate reverence to the massive black dragon towering above us.

  “What in the hells is going on here?” the voice thundered, demanding an answer.

  If a dragon could raise a single brow and look more confused than this one did… I probably would’ve died laughing on the spot. As it was, the expression alone nearly broke me.

  I fought back the snicker threatening to escape. “Apologies, great dragon,” I said, bowing my head to mask my grin. “My friend and I were racing and didn’t realize how close we were to the peak.”

  Nyxala gave me a sharp nudge with her tail… clearly her way of saying pull it together, and I quickly composed myself, bowing lower in apology.

  “You… raced… up the mountainside?” the dragon repeated, its voice quieter now, the sheer weight of its presence drawn back slightly, no longer pressing me into the stone.

  “We wanted to reach the summit quickly,” I said, still bowed. “And figured we might as well make it a fun race.”

  There was a pause, then the dragon rumbled, “Heads up. Let me get a good look at you two.”

  We both stood up straight. I willed my helm into my inventory so the dragon could see my face… then immediately felt stupid. I’d been trying to hide a grin behind a helmet I hadn’t even realized I still had on.

  “Is there a reason you two decided to climb… race, no less, all the way up here instead of using the perfectly good portal at the base?” the dragon asked, its massive head tilting slightly.

  “Portal…?” I blinked. “Had no idea that was even an option.” I wasn’t mad about it though. Honestly, the challenge of climbing had made it worth it.

  The dragon lowered its head, resting its jaw against the stone so we didn’t have to crane our necks. “What are your names?” it asked, voice now calmer, curious rather than demanding.

  I gestured toward Nyxala. “This is Nyxala, my wife’s bonded Lepidomare,” I said, then added with a smile, “And I’m James.”

  The dragon’s deep-set eyes shifted to Nyxala. “Nyxala, why do you travel without your bonded?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but Nyxala hummed low and firm, cutting me off. Her tone shifted into a more melodic rhythm, clearer, stronger than I’d ever heard it.

  The dragon responded in kind.

  They began to converse, not in words, but in harmonized tones that reverberated through the stone beneath my boots. A conversation in hums. Long, layered, and complex.

  So, I did what any reasonable third party would do in that situation… I sat cross-legged on the ground and waited.

  Eventually, the dragon looked back at me, its voice thoughtful now.

  “She has great respect for you… and your companions. She explained why Trish did not accompany you. I find it intriguing, the endurance of your bondmates. For creatures not born of this peak, you endure the cold better than expected. Though,” it added with a slow breath, “up here is warmer than the base. Because of us dragons.”

  It rose to its full, towering height, casting a long shadow over me as it studied me closely. “I am Crydran,” it said, voice low and resonant, like thunder rolling through stone.

  I bowed low again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Crydran.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” she replied, her voice resonant but kind. “May I ask what brings you to visit us today?”

  “If I may say first… you’re far more welcoming than Eessa made you out to be,” I admitted.

  A deep, rumbling laugh echoed from her chest, shaking the stone beneath my feet. “That one is always teasing. It's a wonder we dragons receive any visitors at all. Sometimes, I think she tries to keep us to herself.”

  She tilted her massive head slightly. “Did she also tell you that you had to climb the mountain to reach us?”

  “No,” I said, sheepish. “That was just me being dense… and not bothering to ask the obvious questions.”

  She chuckled again, eyes glittering. “Well, you’ve certainly earned a great deal of respect among my kind for how you got here. I’ll be telling the tale of how I saw the two of you flying up the side of the mountain… only to scare you into nearly planting your face in the snow.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh with her. I’d earned that one. And hey, if nearly crashing got me dragon clout, I wasn’t going to complain.

  “As for why I’m here…” I paused, scratching the back of my head. “That’s going to be an awkward explanation.”

  “I have a feeling I know why,” Crydran said, her voice low and knowing. “Let us meet with the other elders of my kind before we speak of this.”

  She turned toward the upper peaks, her wings twitching in anticipation.

  “Come, I shall give you a lift… unless you two would rather race to the finish line?” Her tone shifted, amusement coloring every syllable, almost like she was grinning.

  I looked at Nyxala. She puffed her chest out immediately, her fins flaring wide.

  I smirked. “Re-match it is. Let’s do this, girl.”

  I re-equipped my helm, planting my feet firmly beside her. The halo at my back ignited, the heat pulsing melting the snow beneath me.

  “On my mark,” Crydran called. I could hear the excitement in her voice now. “Go!”

  We launched forward in an explosion of snow and wind, tearing up the slope with reckless abandon. Crydran took flight behind us, shadowing our path as she watched the race unfold with gleeful anticipation.

  For thirty straight minutes we climbed, bolted, and leapt from ledge to ledge, neither of us yielding an inch. At the final stretch, we both jumped, propelling ourselves into the air with one last burst of speed, hoping to claim victory by inches.

  “A tie!” Crydran’s booming voice echoed across the mountaintop, laced with delighted laughter.

  She swooped beneath us with expert timing, catching us effortlessly before we could fall and carried us both downward. Only then did I see it, a massive cave entrance carved into the mountainside, hidden from view by the cliffs.

  And waiting there… were three other dragons.

  They stood in the yawning mouth of the cavern, watching us with piercing eyes. Regal. Unmoving. Ancient.

  As we landed before them, I took in the sight properly. Each dragon towered high, somehow even taller than Crydran herself.

  The silver dragon was massive, easily the largest of the four. The red came next, crackling faintly with residual heat. Then Crydran, her dark scales shimmering with frost. And finally, a deep violet dragon, just slightly smaller than Crydran but no less intimidating.

  They didn’t speak.

  The silence was thick, the four of them watching Nyxala and me… and watching each other.

  I could tell they were communicating, but not aloud.

  Think they talk like we do? I asked Virellia quietly.

  “I would assume that to be the case,” she replied, though her voice sounded… distant. Distracted.

  They’ll be okay. We must believe that. I added more for me than for her.

  She didn’t respond in words, but I felt her presence brush against mine. A quiet affirmation.

  Then the silver dragon finally spoke. “Come. Follow.”

  Its voice was deep, low, and powerful, richer and older than Crydran’s. It wasn’t loud… but it left no room for hesitation.

  Nyxala and I fell in behind the four massive dragons, trailing them in silence. We descended through a wide tunnel and down a steep ramp that spiraled deeper into the heart of the mountain. After several long minutes, the path opened into a breathtaking chamber that stole the words from my mouth.

  It was a world within a world.

  Lush grass and tall trees filled a vast field below us, vibrant and alive despite the cold exterior of the mountain. A circular stone platform stretched out beneath our feet, overlooking the valley like a balcony. Down below, dragonlings chased each other in play, weaving between what I could only assume were Draconoi children.

  The warmth of the space, the light, the sheer peace of it, this was nothing like I’d expected. I found myself wondering, just briefly, if Kaelvorn might’ve come from a place like this.

  Then, the silver dragon finally spoke.

  “I am Lunetherion,” he said, voice deep and steady, like stone scraping softly against stone.

  The red dragon followed. “I am Drazkhar,” she said, her voice higher pitched than I expected, sharp, but not unpleasant.

  “And you may call me Zynthrael,” the purple one said, his words trailing in an echo that felt like it came from every direction at once.

  I bowed low. “I am…”

  “We know who you are,” Lunetherion said, cutting me off. His tone wasn’t unkind, but there was an edge of impatience. “The question is why you are here.”

  I straightened. “Originally, I came in hopes of bonding with one of your kind… but now, I’m not so sure that’s even possible.” I hesitated, watching for any reaction, but the dragons remained silent, eyes fixed on me. “I recently gained a new passive. It’s called Dragon’s Soul Bond. And I fe…”

  Drazkhar’s voice burst through before I could finish. “It has been millennia since that passive has been granted to anyone.”

  All four heads snapped toward me in unison, Crydran’s among them. Their expressions weren’t fearful… or angry. They looked stunned.

  “Look, I know this makes things more complicated,” I rushed to explain. “I don’t want to force this on anyone. I still came… mostly just to meet one of you, maybe talk. I had no idea it would be like this. I…”

  “James,” Virellia’s voice whispered calmly through my mind. “Read the room.”

  I stopped talking and looked around again, really looked.

  There was no fear in their eyes. No hesitation. They didn’t seem upset by the revelation. If anything.

  They looked excited.

  What… is going on? I asked, not to Virellia this time, just into my mind, trying to make sense of it.

  “You carry an honor that none of us have witnessed in our lifetimes,” Lunetherion said at last. His eyes gleamed. “The last time I heard of such a bond… was just before my egg was even laid.”

  Stunned, I looked to Nyxala, then to Crydran, who gave me the smallest nod, calm, steady, reassuring.

  “Why is this an honor?” I asked quietly. “If I may ask.”

  Zynthrael was the first to speak. “We dragons are mighty forces in this world, beings of great power and ancient will.”

  “But none of us,” Crydran continued, her voice softer now, “will ever reach the heights of a dragon bound by the soul. A soul bonded dragon becomes something far beyond what we are alone.”

  “You seem to misunderstand the nature of this power,” Drazkhar added, her tone firm but not unkind. “It does not kill the dragon that bonds with you.”

  “It merges your memories,” Lunetherion said, “but not in fragments. Not two minds fighting for control. Not two forms split apart.”

  I felt the words slip from my lips before I even realized I was speaking. “You become one whole… shared experiences, shared lives, as if you both lived them. One mind. One soul.”

  Crydran lowered her head until it nearly touched the stone beside me. “And with that bond, you would do our kind a great honor.”

  “We do not choose you,” Drazkhar said, her eyes unwavering.

  “You choose one of us,” Zynthrael finished.

  The weight of the revelation hit me like a landslide.

  I was the one who had to choose.