Page 2 of Klauth (Dragonis Academy, Year 2.5 #3)

Chapter Two

I stretch awake, feeling the chill of the rough, uneven rock beneath my scaled body as I slowly rise from the cavern floor.

My muscles tighten in my broad, scaled shoulders while I take in the damp, mineral-tinged air—remnants of our long, restless night.

Tiny droplets of condensation trickle down the jagged walls, their soft plinks echoing like whispered secrets in the stillness.

I unfurl my wings and shake them vigorously, a shudder rippling through me as cool air slides beneath the thick, leathery membranes.

Beside me, Thauglor mirrors my movements; his black scales catch the scant light that filters through a narrow fissure above, casting shifting shadows over his imposing form.

We spent the night in our dragon forms, hidden in a secluded cavern several miles south of the Crystal Dragon nest—a far better alternative than arriving late and unannounced.

My claws scrape against coarse gravel as I pad toward the cave’s mouth, the shifting pebbles crackling underfoot like brittle whispers.

Blinking against the sudden brightness of the outside world, I take a moment to let my eyes adjust to the vast panorama: rolling plains stretching out before me and distant, jagged peaks looming to the north.

Overhead, the sky is a cool, smoky gray, with heavy clouds churning as if promising a fresh rain.

With a powerful push from my haunches, I launch into the open air, my massive wings thundering against the wind.

Crisp, bracing gusts ruffle my vibrant crimson scales, and each downward beat of my wings sends a resonant tremor through my ribs.

Thauglor follows close behind, his inky black wings devouring the last vestiges of sunlight.

As we head northeast, the wind carries with it whispers of green vegetation, the cool aroma of distant water, and the unmistakable, musky tang of other dragons.

I tilt my head back and unleash a mighty roar, a sound that rolls out like distant thunder and announces our arrival.

My chest vibrates powerfully with each reverberation, the echo bouncing off ancient, rugged cliffs.

A heartbeat later, a softer, almost hesitant roar answers from below, granting us permission to approach.

My pulse quickens with anticipation, each beat a reminder that negotiations with the Crystal Dragons are always fraught with tension.

Circling their courtyard twice, I scan the pale, timeworn stone buildings below.

I catch the furtive shuffle of scurrying feet and hushed whispers as the inhabitants react nervously to our presence.

Finally, I angle downward, extending my powerful back talons, and land with a muted, resonant thud in the center.

My claws scrape across the cool marble tiles, producing a sharp, staccato echo that fills the enclosed space.

I flare my wings wide, using the hooked tips for balance, and let out a low, rumbling huff that stirs up fine motes of dust at my feet.

In an instant, I shift to my human form.

The cool stone beneath my boots feels strangely fragile compared to the unyielding earth that once supported my claws.

Thauglor touches down with a resonant impact, displacing the still air in a ripple of sound.

He shifts as well, yet the darkness of his wings remains draped over his shoulders like a protective cloak.

Their smooth, leathery texture is so profoundly black it seems to absorb every stray ray of light in the courtyard.

“Klauth, always a pleasure to see you arrive,” comes a resonant greeting. I turn to see Leviathan striding toward me, his crystalline scales glinting even in human form. He extends his hand with a practiced, disarming smile.

“Thank you, Leviathan,” I reply, clasping his hand firmly. His skin is cool and almost slick to the touch, and I withdraw my grip swiftly. “This is Thauglor, my ally,” I say, nodding toward him. “Thau, this is Leviathan—the drake that sired my betrothed.”

Thauglor inclines his head slightly, his wings draped casually over his arms as he deliberately avoids extending a handshake.

“Pleasure,” he responds in a flat tone, his voice carrying a quiet, cautionary note.

The shifting leather of his wings produces a soft, rasping sound, reminiscent of dry leaves rustling in a light breeze.

“This way, gentlemen,” Leviathan directs, gesturing toward an archway carved with intricate, swirling patterns that evoke the layered beauty of crystal.

As we follow his lead, the gentle scrape of my boots against the polished floor resounds—a stark contrast to the powerful clamor of my claws on rough stone only moments before.

We step into a spacious room. Its walls and floors softened by plush pillows in hues of pale blue and shimmering white.

In one corner, several females huddle together, their wide eyes betraying a thin veil of terror.

I catch the faint, unsettling odor of their fear—a blend of stale sweat intermingled with a metallic tang that twists my stomach as I watch them cling to each other.

“You have to forgive my daughters,” Leviathan explains softly as he stops near a long, imposing table at the room’s center. “They don’t see outsiders very often.”

I swallow a low, guttural growl as their palpable fear both irritates and disgusts me. These quivering females seem hardly fit to bear the weight of our bloodline. I notice Thauglor’s slight smirk and the subtle flare of his nostrils, a silent testament to his scorn.

“How well do they fight?” Thauglor inquires, his tone heavy with impatience. “Maybe I might even take one home with me.” At his words, the girls recoil, sniffling in alarm as the mere suggestion of a black dragon claiming one of them sends shivers through the room.

“Our females don’t fight. Do yours?” Leviathan retorts, his question hanging in the air. Despite the tension, there is a certain pride in his voice as he defends the ways of his brood.

“Red and black dragon females learn to fight from a young age,” I reply evenly, my gaze sweeping over the nervous cluster of daughters.

“They know how to defend their nests. We don’t send them to war, if that’s what you’re asking.

” In truth, none of these trembling figures before me would stand a chance if another species dared raid their eggs; their quivering only deepens my contempt.

“You can try to teach my daughter to fight, but we are not built that way, I’m afraid,” Leviathan concedes, a subtle unease creeping into his otherwise polished demeanor.

My anger ignites like wildfire. “That is not what you said to get me to accept your hatchling,” I snap, slamming my heavy palms down onto the gleaming surface of the table.

The impact reverberates through the room, rattling the dishes nearby with a sharp clatter.

“You promised me a powerful female with a breath weapon to rival the sun!”

Leviathan leans forward, his eyes locking with mine as he meets my fury head-on.

The tension between us crackles like a storm waiting to break.

“The daughter I’m giving you is the strongest of the clutch,” he insists in a low, measured tone.

“Her breath weapon will rival the sun when she reaches wyrm status in ten years.”

“You’re giving me a twenty-year-old hatchling?” I exclaim, spreading my fingers wide as indignation surges through me, my heart pounding like a war drum in my ears at the sheer gall of this arrangement.

“No,” he replies evenly, raising his hands in a gesture meant to calm the storm of my anger. “I am giving you a twenty-five-year-old hatchling. Our females reach wyrm status at thirty-five. We simply grow a little slower.”

My eyes narrow as the distant hum of my dragon instincts intensifies in my ears.

The soft, almost imperceptible shuffling of his daughters, the clinical sterility of this room, and Leviathan’s saccharine politeness all rub me raw.

I draw in a deep, steadying breath—the cold, stinging air filling my lungs—as I struggle desperately to keep my patience from snapping altogether.

After several hours, three heated arguments, and the irritating sound of weak females sniveling at our raised voices, my stomach twists in revulsion.

A stiff breeze carries their bitter tears to my nostrils.

The salty tang churns my gut. This is not what I was promised.

Syrax—the female pledged to me—is barely half my size and even weaker in her dragon form.

When her shallow panting becomes unbearable, she shifts and flops across my dragon’s back.

We are not even halfway back to my territory.

Disgraceful . Her trembling fingers clutch at my scales.

I sense the pitiful hammering of her heart, yet I feel no pity.

We land in the courtyard of my home. The stones still radiate the fading warmth of a sun sinking behind craggy mountains.

Dust kicked up by our wings tastes like chalk on my tongue.

I also detect a faint odor of scorched earth.

A lady’s maid scurries out to collect Syrax from me.

Her shoes click nervously against the flagstones.

A tightness grips my chest as the pair disappear indoors.

I shift back to my human form. The rough texture of skin replaces the cold armor of scales.

I fight the urge to roar my frustration into the darkening evening sky.

Thauglor, my oldest friend, follows suit.

His scales melt into skin with a sickening crackle of bone.

The sound echoes in the silence. Once he is fully changed, he steps closer.

The heavy thud of his boots on the stone reminds me of his presence.

“What are you going to do with her?” he asks.

His voice reverberates beneath the vaulted arch.

His gaze lingers on the door where the female disappeared. I can almost taste his disapproval.

I drag my hand down my face. My fingers rasp against my stubble.

I cast my eyes over the darkening water beyond the walls.

The temple of Bahamut looms in silhouette like a brooding giant.

The murky reflection ripples with the faint caress of the wind.

It mirrors the turmoil in my mind. “What have I done in my life to deserve this?” I mutter.

I hope Thauglor’s next words ease the twisted knot in my gut.

Thauglor gestures toward the shadowy land where the academy is taking shape.

“We are ruthless and take territory on a whim,” he declares.

“Look at what we accomplished this year.” He continues, “We seized more land from the firedrakes and ambush drakes for the war academy training grounds. We also claimed land for the garden in your mother’s honor. ”

I follow his gaze. I smell the lingering scent of upturned earth drifting on the breeze, and I nod slowly.

“We did offer them a place at the academy once it’s finished,” I say.

“Lesser dragons and other species would have a chance to attend. I say we create a gauntlet to separate the weak from the strong and then send the strong to the war campus.” A cold thrill courses through me at the thought of testing them.

I imagine their cries echoing off cold stone walls in the gauntlet’s corridors.

Thauglor rubs his jaw. The leather of his gauntlet creaks as he shifts.

“We might as well have a second gauntlet to further separate the strongest and smartest from the strong-but-not-so-smart,” he says.

He shrugs. His dark eyes flick between the two proposed locations.

“The strong, smart ones can be your generals, officers, and tacticians. The rest will be your soldiers under their command.”

“That’s a sound idea,” I concede. I tap the hilt of my sword.

Its weight is cold in my grasp and serves as a constant reminder of my authority.

“I’ll implement it as soon as it’s up and running.

” A low growl resonates deep in my chest. “A crystal dragon … what was I thinking?” The words taste bitter, like iron lingering on my tongue.

I lead us inside my castle. The heavy wooden doors groan on ancient hinges as they swing open to reveal a dim, foreboding interior.

Our footsteps echo along the stone corridor.

The chill in the air is amplified by walls that have witnessed centuries.

We climb the winding staircase to the third floor.

Torchlight flickers against damp stone and casts dancing shadows.

Midway down the hallway, on the right, lies my office—a cavernous room thick with the musty aroma of old parchment and the rich scent of leather-bound tomes.

Inside, two large hand-drawn maps dominate the far wall.

One depicts the entire continent with its provinces and meticulously marked dragon dens.

The other shows a grand layout of the academy in progress.

The parchment crackles under my fingers as I jot down Thauglor’s ideas.

I pin them beside the academy map. Candlelight illuminates the ink and lends the words a gravity that settles over me like fate.

Together, we will create something that stands the test of time. Something that will remain here, looming and powerful, long after we are gone.