Page 4 of Thauglor (Dragonis Academy Year 3.5 #5)

I watch as my words invoke a mix of pride and unease in him, his jaw tightening with barely contained aggression that could explode into violence at the slightest provocation.

He turns away, studying the rough lines of his castle’s architecture with the intensity of someone constantly calculating threats and defensive strategies.

The somber gargoyles perched along the rooftops seem to leer down at us, their stone eyes following our every movement with silent judgment.

These grotesque sentinels have witnessed countless conversations like this one, have seen allies become enemies and friends transform into corpses.

The air grows thicker with the promise of an impending storm—or perhaps it’s just the dangerous tension crackling between us as we discuss his questionable choices.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, though whether it comes from the approaching weather or the growls building in both our chests is impossible to determine.

The pressure in the atmosphere makes my scales itch beneath my human skin, a warning that transformation might be necessary sooner than expected.

“We’ll see after she bears my clutch,” he growls, and I catch the flash of fang as he speaks, his human facade slipping just enough to reveal the predator beneath.

“Apparently, her parents insisted she dig a nest in their territory.” His voice drips with the kind of fury that has leveled mountains and boiled seas, and I can tell he’s about as pleased as I am about that thought.

The implications are staggering—any dragon forced to leave their chosen territory becomes vulnerable, exposed to attacks from rivals who might see an opportunity in the temporary relocation.

A low growl thrums in his chest at the thought of abandoning the place where he was hatched, the sound vibrating through the ground beneath our feet like a warning tremor that precedes an earthquake.

The scent of fresh mortar and aged rock clings to these walls, but underneath lurks something else—the copper smell of old blood, evidence of battles fought to defend this place.

These stones hold memories of violence, of enemies who thought they could take what wasn’t theirs and learned too late the price of their presumption.

I shake my head, causing the weak sunlight to glint off the few scales I still bear in human shape—scales that could deflect a blade if needed and serve as a constant reminder of what I truly am beneath this deceptive flesh.

“Crystal dragons don’t like straying far from their kind, and for good reason,” I observe, studying his expression for any hint of the doubt I know must be eating at him.

“They’re creatures of habit and comfort, unused to the harsh realities of territorial warfare.

It’s nearly half a day’s flight from here to her region—time enough for any number of enemies to spot us traveling together and plan an ambush. ”

The distance alone makes this journey a tactical nightmare.

Flying in formation with another dragon makes us a larger target, easier to spot from great distances.

Our combined scent trail will be impossible to hide, and any enemies tracking our movements will have hours to prepare traps or gather reinforcements.

The crystal dragon territories are notoriously well-defended, but they rely on passive magical barriers rather than the active military presence that actual threats require.

“If she fights to return to that nest she dug, that’s her funeral,” he snarls, his voice rumbling low in his throat like the growl of an apex predator marking territory for the last time.

My gaze drifts to the sprawling mountains beyond the northern side of the castle, their peaks jagged against the grey sky like broken teeth waiting to tear the unwary from the air.

Those peaks hide caves where enemies could lurk, waiting to strike at the perfect moment when we’re burdened with precious cargo and flying defensive patterns.

“I have plenty of mountains here where she can dig a nest in my territory,” he continues, but I hear the underlying uncertainty in his voice, the doubt he’s trying so hard to suppress.

The wind stirs his dark hair, carrying with it the cold tang of the peaks—sharp, foreboding, and heavy with the scent of snow that could trap us if this journey takes too long.

Winter approaches with each passing day, and flying in blizzard conditions while escorting someone unused to harsh weather is asking for disaster.

I lick my finger to test the breeze, a habit born from countless battles where wind direction meant the difference between victory and death.

The taste of salt and metal tells me storms are coming, probably within the next few hours.

“We should get going if we plan on getting there before nightfall,” I mention, my voice rumbling with a subtle growl that makes nearby birds take flight in alarm.

He shifts his weight, boots scraping against the rocky outcrop beneath us with the sound of metal on stone—a sound that could give away our position to listening enemies hidden in the surrounding peaks.

“The wind is in our favor heading there, but we may have to fight it on the way back. And fighting headwinds while carrying precious cargo makes us sitting targets for anyone with patience and good aim.” The words taste bitter in my mouth, acknowledging the vulnerability we’re about to accept for the sake of political expediency and his desperate need for companionship.

With that warning hanging between us like a blade, I step away, skin rippling and stretching as my human form dissolves in a cascade of transformation that never gets easier despite centuries of practice.

Bones crack and expand with sounds like snapping tree trunks, muscles bulging and reforming as obsidian scales cascade across my flesh like liquid armor forged in the heart of a volcano.

Within moments, I tower before Klauth in my colossal black dragon form, every inch of me designed for destruction and honed by countless battles.

My eyes burn like molten sapphire as I spread wings that could level buildings, casting shadows that seem to swallow light itself.

The transformation leaves me hyper-aware of every threat—the way the wind could carry our scent to enemies, how our massive forms will be visible for miles, the vulnerability we’ll face while escorting a crystal dragon who’s probably never seen actual combat.

The flight to the crystal dragon nest stretches ahead of us like a treacherous marathon through hostile skies, each mile taking us deeper into contested airspace where rival flights patrol the boundaries like wolves marking territory.

Their scouts hide among the clouds like deadly phantoms, waiting for opportunities to strike at vulnerable targets.

At a little past the halfway mark, exhaustion weighs heavily on our wings like lead chains, and we’re forced to land in search of shelter.

The constant vigilance required to avoid detection has drained us both—flying while watching for threats from every direction is like dancing on the edge of a blade while blindfolded.

We find a cave carved deep into a cliff face, its entrance partially hidden by hanging vines that smell of decay and old death.

The musty air inside carries the lingering scent of previous occupants—creatures that may have died here or simply moved on to avoid whatever dangers lurk in these mountains.

I can taste the metallic tang of mineral deposits on my tongue, mixed with something else that makes my scales prickle with unease.

This place has seen violence before, probably recently.

Klauth is restless, his breathing harsh and irregular as he paces the narrow confines of our temporary shelter like a caged beast. I know the man is fighting an internal war—his human side battling his dragon about taking a bride instead of waiting for his true mate.

The sound of his footsteps echoes off the stone walls like the steady beat of a war drum, each step betraying his inner turmoil.

The man is terrified of the madness that comes from isolation, afraid that without a mate to temper his rage, he’ll become one of those feral beasts we’ve been forced to hunt down and kill.

But his dragon wants to wait for its mate instead of accepting some substitute, some pale imitation of the bond that should burn between true partners.

I can smell the conflict on him—the acrid scent of fear mixed with the bitter tang of self-doubt.

It’s a stench I recognize because I’ve worn it myself during my darkest moments, when the loneliness becomes a living thing that claws at your insides.

Honestly, I agree with his dragon completely.

The romantic in me—recoils at the idea of settling for anything less than the soul-deep connection I’ve dreamed of for centuries.

I will not accept a female who doesn’t make my heart race and my blood sing, someone who isn’t worth dying for.

I’d rather allow insanity to claim me, would gladly let madness drag me from this plane of existence before I’d buy a bride like she’s some prized livestock at market.

The thought of Klauth’s crystal dragon waiting in her pretty nest, probably painting her nails or preening her scales while actual warriors bleed and die in these mountains, makes my stomach churn with disgust. She’ll never understand the weight of the crown he wears, the burden of the choices that have carved lines into his face like battle scars.

She’ll be a decoration, not a partner. A pretty bauble to display, not the fierce mate who should stand beside him as his equal, ready to tear apart anyone who threatens their territory.

Outside our cave, the wind howls through the peaks like the cries of the damned, carrying with it the promise of storms and the distant sound of something large moving through the night.

We’re not alone out here, and every instinct I possess screams we should keep moving despite our exhaustion.

But dawn is still hours away, and flying exhausted in these treacherous mountains is just another way to die.

The night stretches before us like an eternity of waiting, each hour bringing us closer to a meeting that might change everything. Tomorrow, we collect his bride. Tonight, we sit in this tomb-like cave and pretend he’s not making the biggest mistake of his life.