The dragon scale burned in my pocket as I ran through the twisting tunnels of our underground city. My heart was pounding, not just because I was running, but because I couldn't shake what I'd seen up on the surface. Dragons. Real, fire-breathing dragons. And that scale? I'd stolen it—right from under the dragon slayers' noses.
I slowed as I approached our family's quarters, trying to catch my breath and look normal. As if anything could be normal after what just happened.
"Nedu! Where have you been?" Mom's voice carried that mix of relief and anger that only mothers can perfect. "We've been worried sick!"
I opened my mouth, ready to toss out one of my usual excuses, but the words stuck in my throat. The scale in my pocket felt like it was pulsing, and out of nowhere, I could feel my mother's worry and fear, like they were real things hanging in the air around me.
"I... I'm sorry, Mom. I lost track of time in the archives." The lie tasted bitter, but I couldn't tell her the truth. Not yet.
She sighed, the worry lines on her forehead softening slightly. "Just... don't do that again, okay? With the increased dragon activity up top, we need to be extra careful."
I nodded, the guilt gnawing at me. If she only knew how close to the surface—and to dragons—I'd really been.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The scale sat on my bedside table, its shiny surface reflecting the dim light of our room. I kept staring at it, unable to shake off the events of the day. I remembered the deafening roars, the flashes of fire, and the thick, smoky smell mixed with something else—something old and powerful.
I reached out to touch the scale again, and the world exploded into sensation. Colors I'd never seen before danced at the edges of my vision. I could hear the heartbeats of my family members in their rooms, smell the lingering scent of our dinner from hours ago. And there was something else, a presence in the back of my mind, alien yet somehow familiar.
Young one, it whispered, you have taken the first step on a long journey.
I yanked my hand back, my heart racing. The scale hadn't spoken—not really. But I'd felt its meaning as clearly as if it had.
Sleep eventually came, filled with dreams of fire and flight.
The next morning, I made a decision. I was going to apply to Skyforge Academy's junior program. If I was going crazy, I might as well do it in a place where I could learn to protect myself—and maybe others—from dragons.
"Absolutely not." Dad's voice was firm, his arms crossed over his chest. "You're too young, Nedu. The junior program is for 15-year-olds, not 13-year-olds who can barely lift a training sword."
"But Dad, I—"
"No buts. It's too dangerous. End of discussion."
I felt a familiar frustration building, but underneath it was something new. I could sense my father's fear, his desire to protect me. And deeper still, a flicker of pride that I wanted to follow in his footsteps as a defender of our city.
Taking a deep breath, I focused on that pride, willing it to grow. "Dad, I know I'm young. But I'm ready for this. I've been studying dragon lore since I could read. I know I can contribute, even if I'm not the strongest."
As I spoke, I saw his expression soften almost imperceptibly. Was I imagining it, or was I somehow influencing his emotions?
"Nedu," he sighed, "it's not just about physical strength. The things they see up there... it changes people. I don't want that for you, not yet."
"But that's exactly why I need to go!" I pressed, feeling emboldened. "The world is changing, Dad. The dragons are getting bolder. We need fresh perspectives, new ideas. Please, just let me try."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, to my amazement, he nodded slowly. "Alright. You can apply. But!" he held up a hand as I started to celebrate, "If they say you're not ready, you wait. Deal?"
"Deal!" I grinned, resisting the urge to whoop with joy.
As I turned to leave, already dreaming of my application letter, Dad called out, "Nedu? What's that in your pocket? It's... glowing."
I froze, my hand instinctively covering the dragon scale. "Oh, uh, just a good luck charm. I've to go work on my application!"
I practically ran to my room, my mind racing. The scale was glowing? And how had I managed to convince Dad so easily? It was as if...
As if I had some kind of power over emotions. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. This wasn't just some trinket I'd found. The scale was changing me.
With shaking hands, I pulled out a piece of paper and began to write my application to Skyforge Academy. As I wrote, I felt the scale's warmth in my pocket, and words seemed to flow from my pen with uncanny ease. I wrote of my dedication to protecting humanity, of my extensive knowledge of dragon lore, and of my belief that understanding our enemy was key to defeating them.
What I didn't write was the truth: that I was changing, becoming something neither fully human nor dragon. That I could sense emotions, maybe even influence them. That a voice in my head was guiding me toward some unknown destiny.
As I sealed the application letter, a chill ran down my spine. I was stepping onto a path that would change everything—for me, for my family, maybe even for the world. But I couldn't turn back now.
"I hope you know what you're doing," I whispered to the scale.
In response, I felt a surge of warmth, of reassurance. And underneath it all, a sense of anticipation. Whatever was coming, it was going to be big.
I took a deep breath and stood up. It was time to deliver my application to the Academy courier. Time to take the first real step toward my destiny.
As I walked through the tunnels, the scale a comforting weight in my pocket, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Not by the people around me, but by something older, something with eyes of fire and scales of steel.
*Welcome, young one*, the voice in my head whispered, *to the beginning of your journey*.
I squared my shoulders and kept walking. Whatever was coming, I would face it head-on. For my family, for humanity, and for the strange new part of myself that I was only beginning to understand.
The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: nothing would ever be the same again.