Bellamy
As Bellamy rode over the forest, he noticed the unsettling atmosphere around him. Just beyond the horizon, he spotted the jagged outline of the Red Tomb. In the distance, a large camp came into view, likely belonging to a band of bandits. Aquarax, his steed, shifted nervously beneath him, sensing something was amiss.
Suddenly, a loud screech pierced the air. A massive dragon, nearly the size of Aquarax, descended onto the bandit camp, unleashing a torrent of flames that engulfed the area in fire. From the depths of the forest, smaller dragons emerged, their scales shimmering in the firelight as they joined the larger beast in its assault. They swooped down with fierce agility, their screeches mingling with the sounds of chaos below. Bellamy watched as the forest transformed into a scene of devastation, the vibrant greens now consumed by flames and smoke. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood.
Driven by pure instinct, Bellamy charged at the larger dragon, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Aquarax surged forward, his powerful claws sinking into the dragon's back as they ascended into the sky. The two creatures struggled fiercely, their roars echoing through the chaos below.
In a brutal display of strength, Aquarax managed to tear open the other dragon's chest, his jaws clamping down with a savage ferocity. The dragon's agonized scream pierced the air, a horrific sound that resonated like an abomination, a reminder of the raw power and pain that dragons could unleash. The creature's blood sprayed into the air, falling like a crimson rain against the backdrop of the burning forest. Each violent movement sent droplets cascading down, glistening in the flickering light of the flames below.
As the larger dragon writhed in agony, it began to plummet from the sky. It fell into the sea of flames it had created, consumed by the very destruction it had wrought, leaving only a trail of smoke and ash in its wake. The forest crackled and roared around them, a testament to the savage brutality of the battle that had just unfolded.
With the larger dragon defeated, Aquarax shifted his focus to the smaller dragons that darted through the smoke and flames. Their movements were frantic, a desperate attempt to escape the chaos that surrounded them. Some of the smaller dragons managed to evade Aquarax's grasp, weaving through the trees and soaring into the sky, their shrieks echoing in the forest.
But others were not so fortunate. Aquarax lunged at the nearest one, his powerful wings propelling him forward as he unleashed a fierce roar. The smaller dragon barely had time to react before Aquarax's needle like tail found its mark, pearceing through its scaled hide. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood as the battle raged on, the forest a chaotic battleground where survival was the only instinct that mattered. The remaining dragons fought desperately, but one by one, they fell to Aquarax's relentless assault, their cries mingling with the crackling of the flames that consumed the forest around them.
After his assault on the dragons, Bellamy managed to regroup with his men, relieved to find that none were injured, though the messenger was missing. "Probably dead," he thought grimly. Recognizing the forest's dangers as fire tends to attract all sorts of creatures, they decided to continue their journey.
After a day and a half of travel, Bellamy and his men finally arrived in Dover. The town was a gloomy place, filled with scorched buildings and a palpable sense of despair. Dover faced constant threats from the Red Tomb and riders from the neighboring kingdom of Lanis. Situated at the border of the Kingdom of Dome and the Kingdom of Lanis, Dover is a hotbed of disputes over land, particularly near nests, which were rich in resources and the beasts themselves were sources of immense power. Kingdoms often waged war over these creatures.
Over a dozen riders were stationed in Dover, commanding a variety of beasts, including dragons, griffins, wyverns, basilisks, and even a pegasus.
Bellamy made his way into the ruined castle where Lord Finley resided. He recounted the events in the forest and informed him of the missing messenger boy, Archy, who was presumed dead. Upon hearing this, Lord Finley cursed his brother for sending such a useless aide but expressed relief that the weapons had arrived safely.
Archy
In the dead of night, Archy awoke in a panic. His surroundings were a nightmare—fires still crackling in the forest, casting eerie glows across the charred earth. Beside him, the lifeless body of an unfamiliar dragon lay sprawled out, while the creature he had been locked in a life-or-death battle with rested in his lap. Confusion flooded his mind, his body sore and battered from the ordeal. The situation was a blur, but his exhausted body gave way to sleep once again.
Archy managed to slip away while the beast remained still, unaware.
By dawn, he had been walking for hours, though his body screamed in pain with each step. His injuries weighed heavily on him, but he kept moving, driven by some primal instinct. Finally, he collapsed beneath a tree, too exhausted to go any farther. As he rested, a shadow caught the corner of his eye—something moving behind a tree. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the shape. It was the beast.
Realizing it wasn't going to let him escape so easily, Archy pushed himself up and limped forward, adrenaline pumping through him. "Curse this damned creature," he thought bitterly, hearing the soft thudding of claws behind him.
But his legs gave out before he could get far, and he fell to the ground, breathless.
The beast appeared before him, its large form towering over Archy as it approached. To his surprise, it did not strike. Instead, it slowly advanced, then spat out something—his sword—offering it to him like a strange, guttural gesture of peace. Archy sat, confused, as the beast lowered its head, slowly licking his wounds with its rough tongue.
In that moment, something shifted between them—an unspoken bond, a strange connection. Archy instinctively reached out, his hand resting gently on the creature's massive head.
"Do you... have a name?" he asked, his voice soft and tentative, as if speaking to something both foreign and familiar.
"Joyrax, Joyrax—the playful hunter," Archy thought to himself, stroking the creature's head as it lay contentedly in his lap. A sense of calm washed over him, a bond between them kindled and burned brighter every passing moment. From now on, we'll be together, he mused. I will be your Rider, and you, my familiar. The thought felt right, as if fate had woven their paths together.