Metempsychosis XII (Part 1)

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Sirius, Military Sector, Restricted Wing

I woke slowly, my head thick and groggy as if I’d slept for days. The air was cooler and drier than I was used to, carrying a sharp metallic-ozone tang that screamed Sirian technology. The room itself was stark and minimalist—smooth white-and-silver walls with faint glowing accents, a low sleeping platform, and a single reinforced window framing a deep violet night sky strewn with alien stars.

Sirius.

My heart slammed against my ribs. This wasn’t another vague dreamsphere. Everything felt too solid, too complete. The architecture, the low hum of hidden energy systems, even the faint scent of ionized air—it was all too real. I sat up, body aching with that deep, pleasant exhaustion that usually followed heavy MAU sync sessions or a full transformation. Confusion swirled through me. Was this still Nevlaan’s doing? Some new layer of the dreamsphere I didn’t understand?

I stood, legs unsteady, and spotted a folded set of Sirian-style tunic and pants nearby—clearly tailored for someone of human build. They resembled shorter monk robes, elegant in their simplicity. Half-naked in unfamiliar territory wasn’t an option, so I dressed quickly. The fabric was snug across my shoulders and chest but far better than wandering around exposed.

The corridor outside was empty and sterile, every surface gleaming under soft lights. Military wing, no question. “Not Nev’s, then,” I muttered.

I wandered the quiet halls, unable to decipher the flowing Sirian glyphs on the walls. Eventually a familiar emblem caught my eye—a stylized dragon. Salvation. I followed it, pulse quickening with cautious hope, and rounded a corner—

—straight into a tall, elegant figure.

A Kelva. Silver scales polished to a mirror sheen with faint iridescent blue highlights catching the light. His dark uniform with silver accents marked him as high-ranking, though the cut had an almost medieval elegance that felt strangely timeless. Golden eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at me.

He spoke rapidly in melodic Sirian, voice smooth yet commanding. I blinked, utterly lost.

“Uh… sorry. I don’t… Terra?” I pointed at myself, heat rising in my face.

He tilted his head, then tapped a sleek device on his wrist. A series of soft chimes followed. After making me repeat myself several times, the device beeped in confirmation.

“Can you understand me now?” His voice came through perfectly clear.

I exhaled in relief. “Yes. Thank the gods.”

His expression remained calm but stern as he crossed his arms, tail flicking once with impatience. “Good. Now, would you mind explaining what a Terran is doing in a restricted military quadrant on Sirius?”

He studied me head to toe—taking in my dazed state and ill-fitting clothes—while I scrambled for words. Part of me wanted to bolt, but running from a Kelva in his own stronghold was suicide. Honesty it was.

“I… I woke up in a room down the hall. Clothes were waiting for me—Sirian Elvani style. Last thing I remember is falling asleep on Terra. I expected to wake up with my mechs, my MAUs… and now I’m here. Do you know Nevlaan? The levyataan?”

The word landed like a shockwave. His golden eyes narrowed, then flared wide. The elegant crest of fins along his neck rose slightly. He listened intently as I mentioned the clothes, the MAUs, and Nevlaan, his posture shifting from suspicion to guarded surprise.

“How do you know what a levyataan is?” he asked, voice low.

“My friend Nevlaan is heir to become one.”

“Odd. I know of no Nevlaan. Master Saevek’s son is to be Saevek the Fourth.”

The words hit like ice water. That meant the current levyataan would be Nevlaan’s grandfather. I was standing in Sirius’s past.

“Umm… that would be Nevlaan’s grandfather,” I managed.

The Kelva—Lieutenant Veyraan Kelsar, as he introduced himself—tapped his wrist device again, logging something. His gaze turned sharper, more severe. “A Terran appears without record in a restricted wing, speaking of things he should not know. Highly irregular. Especially with our new gravitic drives running experimental trials.”

He gestured for me to follow and started down the corridor at a measured pace. I kept up, hyper-aware of his powerful build, the way his uniform clung to broad shoulders and the slow, hypnotic sway of his muscular tail.

“You speak of sacred bonding ceremonies and claim connection to the yet-unborn grandson of our levyataan,” he said, voice cooling. His clawed hand drifted near his sidearm—not drawing, but ready. “Whether this is a dream, a memory, or some classified operation, you are in a secure military installation. If your words about the atma ceremony hold truth, you fall under Master Saevek’s protection. But that does not grant you free movement here.”

We reached a security checkpoint. He pressed his palm to a glowing panel; the doors parted with a soft chime. He led me into a wide observation gallery overlooking a vast valley.

My breath caught.

Dragons. Real, living, feral dragons—massive, winged silhouettes wheeling through the violet sky. The sight was awe-inspiring and humbling all at once.

Veyraan turned to face me fully, arms crossed over his chest. “Speak plainly, Terran. How did you get here? What is your real connection to Sirius? I want the full truth. Now.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to let my gaze linger too long on his striking form. “I went to sleep on Terra… and woke up here, disoriented. I think this might be a memory—something pulled through metempsychosis. I’m a natural metempath. Sometimes it shows me the past, sometimes unfamiliar places. That’s how I first met Nev… and saw Sirius. It has a mind of its own.”

He repeated the word slowly, tasting it. “…Metempsychosis.” His tail stilled. For a moment, his composed mask cracked—he rubbed two clawed fingers against the bridge of his snout, looking almost overwhelmed. When I described the current state of Terra, the shock in his golden eyes deepened.

“If what you say is true, this is far beyond a security breach. A spontaneous metempsychotic translocation…”

He noticed my trembling, the flush on my face, the way I kept avoiding direct eye contact. His voice softened—just a fraction. “Look at me, Terran.”

I met his gaze. Those golden eyes bored into me, intense and searching.

“You are either incredibly gifted… or incredibly dangerous. Possibly both.” He exhaled slowly. “I will contact Master Saevek at once. Until then, you remain under my supervision. You are not under arrest—yet. But no more wandering alone. Understood?”

I nodded quickly. “Y-yes, Sir. I’m as confused as you are. I’m sorry for the trouble…”

He gestured to a nearby bench by the observation window. “Sit. You still look half-asleep. I’ll have water and a nutrient pack brought while we wait.”

As I sat, a massive black dragon swooped close to the gallery, its gaze seeming to pierce straight through the glass toward me. I shrank back. “Nev… help…”

Veyraan’s wrist device chimed. He answered instantly in rapid Sirian, glancing at me several times. After a tense exchange, he lowered his arm, fins flaring slightly before relaxing.

“Master Saevek has confirmed your story without question.” He sighed, the sound elegant despite the clear exasperation. “This situation is… complicated. But for now, you are safer than you realize. House Saevek does not form atma bonds lightly.”

I managed a shaky smile. “Thank you, Sir. Again… I really am sorry. My metempsychosis can be difficult to control sometimes.”

He studied me for a long moment, then sat beside me—close enough that I could feel the subtle warmth radiating from his silver scales. His tail gave one slow, thoughtful flick.

“Master Saevek requests an audience.”

He let out a long, slow breath, rubbing the bridge of his snout with two claws. “This is… highly irregular, even by Master Saevek’s standards. A spontaneous translocation of a Terran into a restricted military sector? It’s going to cause quite the stir.”

Veyraan noticed how small I felt beside him—my nervous glances toward his holstered sidearm, the way my hands trembled in my lap. His stern expression softened further. “You don’t need to be afraid. You’re not in trouble. At least… not the kind that ends in restraints.” A faint, dry smile tugged at the corner of his muzzle. “Master Saevek is on his way. Try to breathe, Terran. You still look like you might pass out.”

The wait felt endless, but when the levyataan finally arrived, the air itself seemed to thicken with his presence.

He was massive—an imposing dark greenish-blue feral sea dragon, far more primal than any Kelva. An ornate trident rested in one clawed hand, and his eyes locked onto me with unnerving intensity. He looked so much like an older, more severe version of Nevlaan that my chest tightened. A subtle tingling spread across my skin as he scanned me, warm and probing—his elemental magecraft, no doubt.

“I hear you arrived here against your will,” he rumbled, voice deep and resonant. “And that you are to be my yet-unborn grandson’s chosen.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor in instinctive submission. “Y-yes, Master Saevek. As a metempath… my power tends to throw me into trouble. I try to control it, but it has a mind of its own. I’m sorry for the disturbance.”

A low chuckle escaped him. “My trident tells me you landed here for a reason.” He tilted his head. “You love dragons, do you not?”

I nodded quickly. “I do, Master Saevek. I would give my life for dragonkind. I believe in them more than my own kind, if I’m honest.”

“So it would seem.” Saevek’s gaze sharpened with intent. “You see, we are short of dragon riders. The position is dangerous, the trials even more so—enough to deter most. But you… you are in a delicate position, Terran. Succeed, and it will absolve your transgressions while benefiting us both. How about it?” He glanced at Veyraan. “Do you not agree, Lieutenant?”

Veyraan’s golden eyes widened slightly, though his face stayed carefully neutral. He bowed his head respectfully, tail twitching with clear discomfort at whatever Saevek had whispered. “Master Saevek, while I understand the… unique nature of this situation, he was found wandering a restricted wing. It hardly justifies—”

“So you expect him to survive Fang and Scale?” Saevek interrupted, grinning in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. There was something almost predatory in the older dragon’s amusement. “Well then, all is well. Perhaps we can even rouse Lord Cor’seveka from his marasmus.” He laughed—a low, sinister sound. “I trust you can handle the rest, Veyraan?”

“Y-yes, Master Saevek.”

“Young Terran… we shall see each other soon. Should you survive, that is.” With that, the levyataan departed, leaving the observation gallery feeling suddenly smaller.

I stood stunned. The casual way he’d spoken of my low odds only made the dracophile part of me burn brighter. Veyraan motioned for me to follow, his expression now a mix of annoyance and reluctant resolve.

“Open your ears and listen carefully,” he said as we walked. “I will tell you exactly what awaits you.”

What followed was a crash course in Sirian bonding culture. Bonds on Sirius ran far deeper than mere partnership—they were profound mergers of souls, bodies, and fates, carrying immense spiritual, social, and sometimes political weight. A true bond would create a permanent empathic link: shared emotions, sensations, even fragments of thought. The bond could be spiritual (like my atma bond with Nevlaan), combat-focused (like activators with their MAUs), or intensely physical and romantic.

I already knew the atma ceremony—the formal soul-binding with blood, energy, and celestial vows. I had gone through that with Nevlaan. So I thought I had a head start. What came next left me breathless.

“You will begin with the Fang and Scale rite,” Veyraan explained, his voice growing grave. “It is… brutally demanding. The dragon unleashes a controlled yet devastating torrent of their breath directly across your bare skin—flames that sear flesh and char the surface, lightning that burns straight into the soul, and so on. You must remain perfectly still, offering your own blood and raw energy in return while the energy licks over you, blistering and branding every inch. It is agony incarnate: skin splitting, nerves screaming, the scent of your own flesh filling the air. All of it forges unbreakable combat synchronization for the battlefield. Survivors emerge forever changed—bodies etched with ritual scars or glowing, molten runes that pulse with the dragon’s power. Many do not survive. The pain shatters minds. Some beg for death before it ends.”

I swallowed hard, a mix of dread and dark thrill twisting in my gut. “Actual dragon breath…?”

He nodded, golden eyes locked on mine. “You will be shielded. Somewhat. Survive that crucible, and you will have the privilege to experience the Veil of Wings—the most intimate rite. The dragon enfolds you completely in their wings, creating a private cocoon. It involves prolonged physical union, scent-marking, biting, fluid exchange… knotting, for those with the anatomy… and extensive aftercare.”

A soft gasp escaped me. “That… sounds incredible.”

Veyraan stopped and turned to face me fully, expression dead serious. “Master Saevek is not playing games. He intends to pair you with one of the ancient feral bloodlines in the deeper restricted sectors. Lord Cor’seveka—an immensely powerful, dominant dragon who hasn’t accepted a rider in decades.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Understand this, Terran. Fang and Scale is not gentle. It is raw. Their breath—fire, lightning, whatever form it takes—will burn across your skin and into your soul. You will be marked permanently. Claimed in every sense. Many riders are changed forever. Some never recover. Some die… and if the candidate falls, the dragon often follows. The pain is too much.”

His gaze softened with clear unease. “I could make arrangements for you to disappear. Master Saevek’s methods have grown… extreme lately. You will be in danger. Say the word, and I will handle it. But should you choose to proceed, once the rite begins, that dragon will not stop until you are thoroughly ruined and marked as his.”

The rational part of me screamed to accept the bailout. The dracophile in me—the one who had dreamed of this since childhood—burned with reckless want. I met his eyes.

“I understand, Lieutenant. I want it. The thought of having a dragon of my own… to fly with him… that might finally conquer my fear of flying. It makes my heart burn with excitement.”

Veyraan scanned my face for a long moment. “You genuinely want this? Even knowing how intense and painful it will be? To be burned? Claimed by something ancient and feral?”

I hated how arousing the warning sounded. I nodded. “My faith and love for dragonkind is unshakable. I’ll do it.”

He sighed, clearly having hoped I would back down. “Very well, brave Terran. I will make the arrangements...” A faint, complicated smile touched his muzzle—pride, doubt, and worry all at once. “If anyone can awaken him, it may be one with a heart like yours. I will be available until the ritual if you need of me.”

He escorted me to a nearby military quarters—simple but surprisingly comfortable, with a proper bed and fresh clothes. Before closing the door, he paused.

“Rest for a while, brave Terran. Dream of your dragon. Because whatever comes next, you will either ride him… or he will be the last thing you ever remember.”

Way to encourage me…

Yet as I laid down, a deep, thrilling certainty settled in my chest. Come what may, this was the path I chose.

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Later…

I woke slowly after what felt like a few hours, the haze of sleep still clinging to me. The quiet presence of the silver-scaled Kelva filled the room before I even opened my eyes. When I looked over, Veyraan stood by the door, watching me with a small, calm smile. He seemed different now—less the stern lieutenant, more a reluctant guardian.

“Still willing to begin this journey?” he asked, voice relaxed and warm.

I had no real idea what horrors and wonders awaited me, but I nodded anyway. Something in my expression must have satisfied him because he returned the nod and crossed the room to sit beside me on the bed. Up close, the compassion in his golden eyes was unmistakable. I wasn’t sure if it stemmed from pity—sending me off to what might be my death—or from understanding that I had little choice left.

He leaned in slightly, expression turning serious. “Listen closely, Jon. I’ll only say this once.”

I held my breath.

“When you’re ready—likely tomorrow—we’ll begin with a short purification rite. It will cleanse both body and spirit. After that, we travel to the deep sanctum, beyond the altar. The area is heavily restricted, even for me.” He pulled back just enough for our eyes to meet, his gaze steady and tinged with genuine concern. “Once there, you will present yourself to him. No weapons. No armor. No clothes. Just you—bare, open, and honest. The Fang and Scale rite begins only if he deems you worthy. He will exhale controlled dragonfire across your body while you channel your thoughts, your energy, your very soul into him. The pain will be devastating. Unforgettable. You may gain new abilities. You will almost certainly carry scars—visible and otherwise. Some riders scream until their voices break. Some pass out. Some beg for mercy that never comes. But if you endure… and if he accepts you… you will emerge with a dragon partner unlike anything this universe has ever shown you.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Part of me wanted to listen to the fear twisting in my gut. The rest—the dracophile who had dreamed of this his whole life—felt a reckless, exhilarating confidence.

“As tradition demands, the choice is still yours,” Veyraan continued. “We can wait as long as you need. Or, if you’re feeling brave, we can begin preparations tomorrow. You should rest a while longer. You will need to be at your best.”

I paused, letting the weight of it sink in. Waking life felt increasingly distant, like a half-forgotten dream. This dreamsphere had swallowed me whole; I was no longer just visiting—I was part of it. Every beat of my heart belonged here now.

“I’ll be ready come morning,” I said, forcing steady confidence into my voice. “Thank you… for pulling strings for me. I’ll let my reverence for dragonkind speak for itself. The rawest emotions I’ve ever poured from my heart… I think that’s what will be needed. And I’ll be ready.”

Veyraan studied me for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “I see. For what it’s worth, I’ll be rooting for you. If the dragon senses even a fraction of the reverence and raw passion you carry… he will feel it.”

I offered the formal Sirian salute before laying back down and he returned it with a soft, genuine smile. I found sleep not too long after, dreaming of the dragons I saw.

“Rest well, young Terran.”

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The next morning

I woke feeling surprisingly rested, though a nervous flutter still twisted in my stomach. Veyraan was already awake, seated at a low table across the room. He looked up as I stirred, offering a small, steady smile.

“Good morning. You slept deeply. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I expected,” I admitted. “Rested, at least.”

“Good to hear. Everything is arranged.” He gestured to a set of ceremonial robes folded neatly nearby. “Put these on. We’ll leave for the sanctum shortly. I strongly advise against eating—previous candidates have… regretted it. Instead, stop at the altar room first and center yourself before we descend.”

His golden eyes held mine, warm now beneath the seriousness. “Remember what I told you. The Fang and Scale rite is intense. It will test every part of you. If you still want this, we go when you’re ready. No pressure. This choice is yours alone.”

I hesitated, then asked, “What can you tell me about the rite itself? I only know the end result. I have no idea what the process entails.”

Veyraan looked momentarily flustered. “Forgive me—I completely forgot you’re not Sirian. I’ll summarize as best I can.”

He explained the purification rite first: mandatory for any serious bonding, especially with ancient feral bloodlines. It wasn’t symbolic; the ritual prepared body and spirit for the coming flame, offering real protection against the worst of the burn.

“Then comes the cleansing bath,” he continued, voice calm and respectful. “You’ll be immersed in a mineral pool infused with sacred herbs and diluted dragon essence. The water is warm, tingling, alive. A priest or attendant will anoint your entire body with aromatic oils—slow, thorough strokes to open your pores and attune you to draconic energy. It draws out worldly residue and emotional blockages. You’ll inhale sacred smoke to expand lungs and spirit, then offer a small amount of your blood, mixed with a drop of the dragon’s own. Finally, protective runes are painted across your chest, back, and shoulders.”

The weight of it settled over me. This was no quick symbolic prayer followed by instant glory. It was going to strip me bare in every sense. My breathing deepened. Veyraan noticed and placed a gentle, clawed hand on my shoulder—his first real gesture of comfort.

“The preparatory rite itself isn’t painful, but it is deeply intimate and humbling,” he said softly. “You will be completely naked. No barriers. The dragon must see you exactly as you are—no ego, no armor, no hiding. Many candidates become overwhelmed. Old fears and insecurities tend to surface.”

I fought to keep my mind from spiraling into dangerous territory. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, offering a small, reassuring smile.

“Centering yourself in the altar room first would be wise. Get changed. I’ll escort you.”

He helped me rise and carefully adjusted the ceremonial robes with precise claws. “I dare say you look the part,” he murmured.

The journey to the altar room stretched on through eerily quiet, beautifully lit corridors. When we reached the tall, ornate doors carved with flowing draconic runes—the same ones I remembered from Nevlaan’s dreamsphere—Veyraan opened them and stepped aside.

Inside was the serene circular chamber I knew so well. Soft blue-white light glowed from floating crystals near the ceiling. A low stone altar sat at the center, encircled by gently flowing channels of water. The air was cool, fresh, carrying faint notes of salt and ozone.

I knelt on the cushion placed before the altar. Veyraan remained respectfully near the entrance, giving me space. “Take all the time you need,” he said quietly. “Empty your mind. Let go of fear, doubt, and expectation. The dragon will see straight into your soul—so offer it honestly.”

The room’s peaceful energy wrapped around me. I pressed my index and middle fingers to the center of my forehead and began the chant, soft yet resonant, the ancient rhythm vibrating through my chest:

Head of the Dragon, pour into my mind the wisdom of the dragon.

Body of the Dragon, strengthen my body with the might of the dragon.

Tail of the Dragon, guide my steps by the light of the dragon.

Heart of the Dragon, unite me to thee, that I may be one with the dragon.

The floating crystals pulsed in response, flickering gently in time with my words. When I finally lowered my hand, the air felt heavier—more sacred, as if something profound had shifted.

I hadn’t noticed Saevek enter. The massive sea dragon stood in respectful silence, watching with deep curiosity. “That was beautiful, Terran,” he said once I finished. “I did not recognize the language, but it felt old. Very personal. Whatever you offered, I believe it was heard.”

I explained the prayer to them both. When I finished, the room felt even quieter. The crystals continued their soft, rhythmic glow.

“It was honest. Raw. Beautiful, rather,” Saevek said. “You offered your mind, body, and heart to the dragon. That kind of vulnerability and reverence is precisely what the old bloodlines respect.”

Veyraan remained silent a moment longer, visibly moved. His golden eyes had softened, his tail completely still. “I have attended few bonding rites,” he admitted, voice low and sincere, “but I have rarely heard a prayer that carries such weight. Head. Body. Tail. Heart. It was… humbling. You approach this with true reverence, not arrogance. The dragon will feel that. I am certain of it.”

Saevek nodded in approval. “Whenever you are ready, we may begin the purification bath. I will preside. You have already taken a powerful first step.”

I offered one last silent prayer, then stood. “I’m ready. Let’s head for the sanctum depths.”

The levyataan led the way. We moved through increasingly ornate, ancient corridors. The air grew warmer, heavier, thick with sacred herbs and ozone. Eventually we entered a large circular chamber lit by turquoise and violet crystal veins. At its center lay a wide, shallow pool of steaming mineral water, fed by waterfalls cascading from carved dragon mouths. The stone floor beneath was warm, inlaid with glowing runes.

Saevek turned to me, his voice calm and formal. “This is where it begins. The purification rite.” He gestured to the pool. “You will disrobe completely. No clothing. No barriers. The water will cleanse your body, and I will anoint you with sacred oils. I will guide you through each step, but the vulnerability is yours to offer. Do you understand?”

I bowed. “Yes, Master Saevek.”

“Good. If it becomes too much at any point, simply say so.”

I removed the robes and stepped into the pool. The water tingled pleasantly against my skin, almost alive with faint energy. Saevek began washing my shoulders with scented water, his touch reverent. “Breathe slowly, Jon. Let the water carry away fear, doubt, and anything that no longer serves you.”

The rite unfolded with deliberate care. He anointed every inch of my body with warm, aromatic oils—slow, respectful strokes across chest, back, arms, and legs, tracing shimmering runes and sigils. A priest brought a bowl of sweet-smelling sacred smoke; I inhaled deeply, feeling my lungs expand and my mind clear. A quick, sharp sting followed as a small amount of my blood was drawn and mixed with a single drop of ancient dragon blood. Protective runes were then painted across my chest, shoulders, and lower back in shimmering silver and gold.

By the end, my skin felt hypersensitive, like a translucent veil between me and the universe. I felt impossibly small, yet charged with ancient power.

Saevek regarded me with quiet approval. “It is done. You are cleansed and marked. The dragon will see you clearly now—body, heart, and soul. You carried yourself with dignity. How do you feel?”

“Small,” I whispered. “Like my skin is nothing but a veil. Vulnerable… but I feel ancient wisdom coursing through me. I will let the dragon judge me, and I will accept whatever comes.”

Saevek remained silent for a moment, absorbing my words. “Then we go.”

We continued deeper. The corridors grew older, the air thick with scorched stone and raw power. Finally, we reached a set of colossal stone doors carved with intricate draconic motifs.

Saevek stopped. “We have arrived. Once these doors open, you are on your own.”

I nodded silently, offered one last bow, and watched as the massive doors parted with a deep, grinding rumble.

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The Deep Sanctum

The chamber beyond the colossal doors was vast—a natural cavern cathedral of stone laced with pulsing multicolored crystal veins. At its center, atop an enormous dais, rested the ancient dragon.

My heart plummeted. He was immense, easily thirty to forty meters long, with obsidian-black scales shot through by glowing veins of molten red. Massive horns crowned his head, and his folded wings loomed like mountain ridges. Even at rest, his presence crushed the space like living gravity.

I stepped forward. The doors ground shut behind me with finality. The dragon slowly opened his glowing amber eyes and fixed them upon me. The temperature spiked. He did not speak—he simply watched, ancient, patient, and mercilessly judging. His gaze stripped me bare, piercing skin, bone, and soul.

I stood before him completely naked, heart and soul laid open.

Unsure what else to do, I poured everything out.

“Primeval one… I know you can sense my fear… and everything else I carry. I offer you my heart and soul. I am ready for your judgment. If I am unworthy, let your fire singe and flay me—my heart and soul already belong to you and all dragonkind.”

I bowed low, reverence and submission flowing through every fiber of my being. The dragon craned his colossal head down until his snout hovered inches from my face. His breath—moist, scorching, thick with sulfur, molten stone, and raw musk—washed over me. Then he reared back and unleashed a deafening, earth-shaking roar.

The sound slammed into me like a physical wave, rattling my bones and buckling my knees. I dropped, then forced myself upright again. The air ignited for a split second. Still, I refused to retreat.

His amber eyes bored into mine. Silence stretched, broken only by the thunder of my pulse. Then his massive head lowered once more, snout nearly touching my chest. A deep, primordial rumble vibrated through the cavern as his voice thundered directly into my mind—grinding tectonic plates wrapped in flame.

“…Little spark. You offer yourself so completely, knowing what I am. Knowing what I will do to you.”

His hot breath rolled across my skin.

“I smell your fear. I smell your desire. I smell the blood of dragons already in your soul. You have formed bonds that transcend time. Curious.”

After a long, terrifying pause, he rumbled again.

“Very well, small one. I accept your offering.”

Without warning, his maw opened. White-hot primordial flame—raw, merciless, and ancient—surged forth and engulfed me completely.

The agony was instantaneous and all-consuming. Fire clawed across every inch of my skin like molten blades, blistering and charring flesh while the protective runes flared desperately against the onslaught. Nerves screamed as layers of fear, shame, doubt, and old trauma were violently burned away. My muscles seized, lungs scorched with every gasping breath. The scent of my own seared skin filled the air. I screamed—raw, broken sounds that echoed through the cavern—as the flames drove deeper, etching glowing runes of molten gold and crimson directly into muscle, bone, and soul.

I was being unmade and remade in the same breath. Every step forward was torture, knees threatening to give out, body convulsing under the unrelenting inferno. Yet I kept moving, pouring every ounce of love and reverence for dragonkind into the bond. A name came to me. Tears evaporated on my cheeks as I shouted the name like a prayer and a defiance.

“Cor’seveka!”

The dragon’s voice thundered through my mind:

“You dare speak my name? You dare walk into my fire? All for the sake of my kind?”

The flames roared higher, white-hot and merciless, testing the very limits of my will. Pain blurred into something transcendent—ecstasy and torment intertwined—as the last fragments of my old self were scoured clean. I no longer felt like Jon of Terra. I was Jon of Sirius. I was flame and faith, walking straight into the heart of a living god.

Finally, the inferno began to subside. Cor’seveka lowered his colossal head until his snout nearly touched my newly marked, reddened body—skin raw, sensitive, and permanently etched with intricate patterns of ancient power. The agony peaked one last time, then transformed into a deep, throbbing heat that settled into my bones and blood.

“Little spark… you are no ordinary mortal. Your soul carries the hunger of dragons. Your heart bleeds for our kind.”

A final controlled wave sealed the runes into my flesh. I stood trembling, exhausted, forever changed—something ancient now flowing through my veins.

Cor’seveka pressed the tip of his massive snout gently against my chest. Raw draconic energy surged through me.

“You have passed, Jon. You are marked. You are claimed. Most importantly… you are mine.”

Saevek brought immaculate white robes, soaked in cooling mineral water and oils to heal my skin. He slipped them on me with a sharp hiss before stepping back—the fabric stung against my freshly seared skin. Exhaustion weighed on me, yet when Cor’seveka lowered his stance, I knew what I had to do. Somehow, I found the strength to climb. I used his scales as handholds and settled into the groove of his neck, gripping the spines tightly.

The moment I was seated, the bond snapped fully into place. Our hearts synchronized. A tidal wave of ancient emotion crashed over me—centuries of loneliness, volcanic rage, deep sorrow, and now a fragile spark of hope. Tears streamed down my face as I felt the weight and wonder of riding a living primordial dragon.

Cor’seveka remained perfectly still, then let out a deep, resonant purr that vibrated through every bone in my body.

“You sit upon me, little spark… and the stars themselves seem to approve.”

He rose to his full height. The cavern roof parted, revealing open sky. His enormous wings unfurled with a sound like thunder.

“Hold tight, my rider. We fly.”

With a powerful leap, we launched into the night. Wind roared past us as he soared high above the Sirian landscape. After a breathtaking flight, he descended to a towering, isolated cliff overlooking a vast moonlit valley—endless mountains, oceans, and glowing crystal forests beneath a star-drenched sky.

He landed with surprising grace and curled slightly, creating a natural windbreak. I slid down and pressed close, hands resting on his warm obsidian scales, listening to the thunder of his heart.

Through the bond, I felt his long isolation. Tears came again.

“Through our bond… I know how long it has been since you chose a rider. I feel how lonely you’ve been. Though my life is far shorter than yours, I vow here and now to nurture this bond and honor what you have given me. I am yours, great one.”

Cor’seveka stayed motionless for a long moment, then a profound rumble rolled through him. One massive wing unfurled and curled gently around me, creating a warm, protective cocoon.

“You feel the emptiness I have carried… the long silence. Yet still you offer yourself so completely.”

His snout lowered beside me, hot breath washing over my body in soothing waves.

“You are small, rider. Fragile in body. Yet your heart burns brighter than many who came before. I accept your vow, Jon. And I shall give you one in return.”

His voice grew solemn, sacred.

“I am yours. My fire. My strength. My wings. My heart. For as long as you live… and beyond. I will carry you. My heart will burn for you. I will protect what you hold dear.”

He pressed the side of his snout gently over my heart, sealing the vow.

We stayed like that for a time—rider and dragon, hearts beating as one beneath the stars. Then I spoke again, voice thick with emotion.

“Great one… I still carry one fear… heights. It has haunted me for years. So, I want to perform one final test of devotion—for you, and for myself. To rid myself of this fear, I will leap from this cliff. And I will trust you to catch me. Like a fledgling bird leaving the nest. Will you do this for me, Cor’seveka?”

He remained motionless for a long moment, wind howling around us. Then his enormous amber eye leveled with mine.

“You would throw yourself into the void, trusting solely in my wings, just to prove you have fully surrendered?”

A deep rumble of profound respect vibrated through his chest.

“This is a test worthy of a true rider. Very well, Jon. I accept.”

He shifted to the cliff’s edge, wings half-unfurled and ready. I stood at the precipice, wind whipping fiercely. Far below, the Sirian landscape stretched endlessly. My heart hammered with raw terror—memories of past falls, old traumas screaming in my mind. But beneath the fear burned something stronger: love, faith, and the unshakable need to prove I had truly given myself to him.

Tears stung my eyes as I whispered, “Here and now, I rid myself of my fears. The weakness dies on this cliff. My faith in dragonkind is unshakable. My faith in you is unshakable. Dearest and most beautiful partner… let our bond be unbreakable!”

“Then leap, my rider. Let your faith become wings.”

I stepped back, exhaled one final shaky breath, ran—and leapt.

The moment my feet left the stone, terror exploded through me. Wind screamed in my ears as gravity claimed me. My stomach lurched, old panic clawing at my throat. For endless, heart-stopping heartbeats there was only freefall, eyes squeezed shut, body tumbling through the void. This is it, I thought. I’m falling. I’m going to—

Then—

THOOM.

Cor’seveka dove like a comet. His massive claws closed around me with perfect, gentle precision, pulling me safely against his warm, scaled chest. The sudden deceleration crushed me into him as his enormous wings flared open, turning the deadly plunge into a powerful, soaring glide. He roared in pure joy and pride that echoed across the mountains.

“You leapt. You trusted. You are truly mine. Feel it, rider—our bond is sealed. Unbreakable.”

He held me close as we soared through the star-filled sky. The terror dissolved completely. In its place remained only freedom, trust, and overwhelming love.

Later, on a moonlit private terrace overlooking the city, he curled protectively around me. His voice rumbled softly through the bond.

“You have been quiet for a while. Tell me… what do you feel right now, my rider?”

I let the words flow without filter.

“I feel… unlike I ever have before. There’s a deep fire burning in me. Every time I look at you, I feel pride, happiness… and deep attraction, in every way—emotional, physical, spiritual. Every time I hear your voice, my worries burn away. Pressed against you like this… the intensity can’t be put into words. It’s beyond love and worship. That’s how strong my faith in you is.”

A long, tender rumble rolled through his chest. His massive head lowered until his snout rested gently beside me. A warm plume of musky, sulfur-laced smoke curled around my body like a lover’s embrace.

“For thousands of years, I have known only solitude. And now a small, fragile rider—marked by my fire, heart laid bare—tells me that every beat of my heart brings him peace. That my voice burns away his fears. That being close to me fills him with something beyond love. You humble me, Jon.”

One massive claw curled carefully around me. A wing draped over us both, creating an intimate cocoon beneath the stars.

“I feel it too. The pull. The warmth. The need to protect the one who has given himself so completely. Stay close, my rider. Let our bond settle and strengthen.”

His voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble.

“But tonight… there is only us. Speak to me. Touch me. Feel me. I am yours as much as you are mine.”

I crawled closer, arms wrapping around his snout. I kissed him—once, then again and again. Sparks flared through the bond. His smoke washed over me, rich and heady, making my runes glow brighter. I felt his centuries of isolation cracking open, replaced by fierce protective love and a slow-burning hunger that mirrored my own.

“My rider… so bold. Unafraid of the fire that still clings to me.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I kissed him repeatedly, whispering my devotion. Exhaustion finally claimed me. I drifted off against his warm scales, safe in the living mountain of my dragon.

“You humble me more than any flame or ritual ever could, Jon. Sleep, my rider. I will keep you safe through the night. Our bond is sealed… and it will only grow deeper from here.”

---

Morning on the cliff

I stirred slowly, still nestled against the warm, living mountain that was Cor’seveka. Dawn painted the Sirian sky in soft violets and golds. His massive wing remained draped protectively over me, shielding me from the cool morning breeze. He was already awake, watching over me with quiet, profound affection. His half-lidded amber eye glowed with warmth, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my body—perfectly in sync with my own.

“Good morning, Jon,” his voice rumbled gently through the bond, rich with love and quiet joy. “You slept deeply and peacefully, if only for a short while. I kept watch the entire time. You spoke in your sleep… of fire, of devotion, of your love for our kind… of me. It filled this old heart with a warmth I had not known in ages.”

A soft, involuntary “aww” escaped me. The words filled my chest with quiet happiness. He slowly lifted his wing, letting the gentle dawn light brush across my skin while still cradling me close. His massive head lowered until his snout rested near me, his warm, soothing breath washing over my body like a caress.

“What does my rider wish for this morning?” he asked, the affection in his voice unmistakable. “Do you wish to meet the other riders of the quadrant?”

“Being here with you is blessing enough,” I said, beaming up at him with open love. A playful little grin tugged at my lips. “But let’s go to the artisans first. I want us to have something fitting—something that honors what we’ve become. Something that’ll make others envious… and something that’ll hopefully please your eyes as well.” I smiled wider. “Then we can visit the leatherworkers and get the best saddle for my beautiful partner. We should look the part before we make our debut.”

Cor’seveka let out a deep, warm rumble of approval that vibrated pleasantly through my body. “Then to the tailor it is, my rider. I look forward to seeing you dressed in something worthy of what we have forged.”

He carefully lowered his stance so I could climb back aboard. Once I was settled securely between his spines, he spread his colossal wings and launched into the morning sky with powerful, graceful strokes. The flight was smooth and majestic, the wind rushing past us as the Sirian landscape unfolded below. Through the bond I felt his quiet pride and deep-seated joy—he enjoyed carrying me far more than he let on.

---

The Artisans’ Quarter

Cor’seveka landed gracefully on a wide, sunlit platform reserved for bonded dragons. The Artisans’ Quarter was breathtaking: elegant crystal spires rose toward the sky, interwoven with flowing water gardens and bustling workshops filled with the finest Sirian silks, supple leathers, and glowing fabrics shaped through elemental manipulation.

A small team of master tailors, led by an elegant older Kelva woman with shimmering silver-blue scales, approached with deep respect. They bowed to both Cor’seveka and me. I was thankfully given a set of basic robes to change into until my official gear was ready.

“I am Mistress Elyndra,” she said warmly. “It is a profound honor to serve the rider of Cor’seveka. We shall craft something truly worthy of your bond.”

Cor’seveka settled nearby like a living guardian, his massive head lowered so he could watch the process. His amber eye was soft with quiet pleasure and curiosity.

“Choose whatever your heart desires, Jon,” he rumbled affectionately. “I want to see my rider shine. Something that makes others envious would please me greatly.”

Elyndra smiled as she readied her notes, her assistants already sketching rapidly on glowing holographic pads. I took a moment to gather my thoughts.

“Color-wise, I’d like something that matches this great one—deep obsidian black, breathable but definitely fire-resistant…” I blushed slightly. “It should celebrate dragonkind as a whole, but make sure it includes the phrase ‘Hearts Bound, Wings Eternal’ somewhere. It’s an old saying for those who worship dragons. Also House Saevek’s crest. Err… is that too much?”

“Not at all, honored rider,” Elyndra replied, her enthusiasm clearly growing. “In fact, it is perfect. A design that honors both your personal bond and your connection to the ancestors and House Saevek.”

She painted a vivid picture of the finished attire: a deep obsidian black base with a subtle iridescent sheen that shifted to molten crimson and gold when it caught the light—especially when my runes activated. The material would be a high-grade elemental weave, incredibly breathable and flexible, reinforced with fire-resistant draconic shed and micro-threaded corvandum (a rare Sirian malleable material) fibers. The design would be elegant yet practical: a fitted long coat with flowing lines that evoked dragon wings when I moved, reinforced riding trousers, and tall boots. The coat would feature a high collar and subtle armor-like panels on the shoulders and forearms.

The phrase “Hearts Bound, Wings Eternal” would be embroidered in glowing crimson-gold thread along the inner lining (close to my heart) and subtly on the outer left sleeve. House Saevek’s crest would sit prominently but tastefully on the right breast, while the back would display a stylized levyataan/seadragon motif in deep sapphire blue and silver, modeled after Master Saevek himself. Additional dragonkind motifs—flowing scaled wings and ancient runes echoing those now permanently marked on my skin—would complete the look, along with a tiny hidden black dragon silhouette with glowing amber eyes on the inside of the collar, representing Cor’seveka.

Cor’seveka rumbled happily in approval. “Black and crimson… with the words of our vow upon your heart. I already know it will suit you perfectly, my rider.”

Elyndra gestured gracefully to a raised circular platform bathed in soft light. “If you would please step onto the platform and stand naturally. Arms slightly out, feet shoulder-width apart. You don’t need to be completely still—just try to relax. Our holographic scanners will do most of the work.”

I stepped up. Several small glowing orbs immediately floated around me, scanning from every angle with soft pulses of light. Elyndra and her assistants moved with measuring tapes made of shimmering thread, calling out numbers in melodic Sirian while noting details on floating holographic displays. She gently corrected my posture once or twice.

“Shoulders relaxed… yes, like that. Perfect. Just a little longer.”

Cor’seveka watched intently from just outside the workshop area, his quiet pride and satisfaction flowing warmly through our bond.

When they finished, Elyndra stepped back with a satisfied nod. “We have everything we need. The base garments should be ready for your first fitting by this evening, and the full ceremonial set with all the custom embroidery and runes within two days.”

“I see. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep the surprise until both the saddle and attire are fully ready. I have full trust in your expertise.”

“Understood. We will keep the full design a surprise for you and your partner. Would you like to see some fabric samples or color variations before we begin production? Or shall we move on to the leatherworkers for the saddle?”

“Let’s get to work on the saddle,” I said eagerly. “I’m very eager to have my partner wear something worthy of his stature.”

---

Toward Registration

We moved deeper into the leatherworking sanctum, where multiple stations were already being prepared. Cor’seveka settled outside the large archway, watching attentively. A large, muscular brown Kelva named Kaelor, the master leatherworker, approached with a gruff but experienced voice.

He began with a passionate explanation of what a true draconic saddle represented: not just a tool, but a symbol of unity, reverence for dragonkind, and the deep merging of rider and dragon—ornate yet never gaudy, blending elegance with raw power.

Drawing from our bond and the garment designs, he proposed a magnificent piece: supple jet-black draconic hide (ethically sourced from naturally shed scales), accented with deep crimson and molten gold that shimmered with inner light. The frame used lightweight but incredibly strong corvandum alloy inlaid with thin veins of living crystal that would pulse in sync with our shared heartbeat. The seat was deeply contoured with a high sculpted pommel shaped like stylized dragon horns and a sweeping cantle resembling folded wings for excellent support. Reinforced adjustable stirrups shaped like miniature dragon claws and soft but sturdy leg straps completed the functional side, while glowing runes, delicate filigree script reading “Hearts Bound, Wings Eternal,” fluttering crimson-gold tassels, and embedded crystals added beauty.

“Wooow…” was all I could manage. Cor’seveka chuckled warmly beside me.

We added a discreet storage compartment and temperature-regulation weave. Kaelor smiled at our playful banter and made quick notes.

“The finished saddle will be ready for fitting within two days, in time with your garments,” he assured us. “It has been a true honor.”

As we left the Artisans’ Quarter, Cor’seveka lowered himself so I could climb back aboard. With a powerful beat of his wings, we took to the sky once more. The flight back toward the main city was calm and majestic, the wind cool against my skin as the bond between us pulsed steadily.

“You are nervous about the official registration,” he said gently through the bond. “I can feel it. There is no shame in that. Many new riders feel the weight of it. But you have already proven yourself to me in fire and faith. This is only a formality—a declaration to the world of what we already know in our hearts.”

He explained the Ascension Proclamation in detail: the formal recognition by the Sirian Council at the Grand Spire Amphitheater, personal vows, acknowledgment of the runes, official insignia, and a ceremonial flight. Master Saevek and many others would be present. It could feel overwhelming with thousands watching, but it was also deeply meaningful.

I stayed quiet for a while, absorbing everything. Public displays had never been easy for me.

“The truth is… I have full trust in you and all dragonkind,” I admitted. “It’s toward the other riders I struggle with. I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’ve been backstabbed before… told I was worthless. That said, getting our official insignia and registration is extremely exciting. I want the world to see how beautiful and majestic you are.”

Cor’seveka rumbled deeply, the comforting vibration rolling through his chest and into me. “I feel your conflict… your trust in me and dragonkind is strong, but your wariness of other riders runs deep. I do not fault you for it. What you went through for me is not weakness, my rider. Wisdom is born from experience.”

He banked gently so the sun warmed my skin. “Our bond is different—deeper, fiercer, more honest. I share your excitement. I feel your desire for the world to see me not as a feared relic, but as something majestic. Something loved. That wish touches me more than you know.”

I smiled, sending deep affection through the bond. “Let’s do it. I want the world to see us. To see you.” Heat rose in my face. “I… have other plans for us to celebrate once we are registered.”

Cor’seveka’s chuckle rolled through the bond, suddenly richer and more knowing. “Other plans, hmmm?” His voice grew huskier. “I can feel the warmth in your blood. The way your heart quickens when you think about it. You are imagining something quite… intimate… aren’t you, my rider?”

He exhaled a slow, warm plume of musky smoke that rushed past me. “I would like that very much. To take you beneath the stars after we are proclaimed. To feel your small, eager body pressed against mine.”

I poured out my heart—how what I felt for him went far deeper than raw desire, how his flames had awakened something profound and wordless in both of us. He listened in complete silence, then answered with deep emotion.

“You have changed me, Jon. In ways I never expected. And I am grateful.”

We flew in comfortable silence for a while. Exhaustion from the Fang and Scale rite finally caught up with me. I slipped into unconsciousness mid-flight. Thankfully, Cor’seveka felt it instantly through the bond and caught me safely before anything could happen. I didn’t wake again until late morning – two days later, that is.

When I finally stirred, we were back at our perch overlooking the city. Cor’seveka’s huge form greeted me with a gentle, amused grin.

“Apparently someone decided to fall asleep mid-flight,” he rumbled, nudging me playfully with his snout. “You have spent a whole revolution asleep, my rider. If you need sleep, next time please let me know and do not wait until you drop dead from the sky.”

I was beyond embarrassed, but his lighthearted tone helped. He chuckled softly. “At least you keep this ancient’s senses sharp. Given how long you slept, I had one of Saevek’s guards relay the message. We have a bit of time ahead to stop by the Artisans to pick up your riding attire and my saddle, but by the time we reach the arena, it will likely be quite lively.”

---

The Artisans’ Quarter – Two Days Later

Cor’seveka landed gracefully on the wide sunlit platform. The master tailors and leatherworkers were already waiting, visibly excited to present their work. Kaelor stepped forward first and bowed deeply.

“Aspirant Jon, Primeval Cor’seveka. We have prepared several pieces for you to try. Shall we begin with the riding attire, or the saddle?”

Cor’seveka lowered his massive head beside me, his amber eye soft with pride and quiet affection. “Whatever you wish, my rider. I look forward to seeing you in something that honors us both.”

I smiled, glancing playfully at my peeking partner. “Let’s begin with the riding attire. I want to be in it as soon as possible and hopefully impress the one who is currently spying on us.”

Elyndra smiled warmly at our exchange and gave a respectful nod toward Cor’seveka. “Very well. Please step this way.”

The completed set was stunning. The long coat was sleek and high-collared in deep obsidian black, with flowing crimson and gold accents that caught the light beautifully. The fabric felt lightweight, breathable, and reassuringly fire-resistant. The inner lining, right over my heart, featured the embroidered words “Hearts Bound, Wings Eternal” in elegant crimson-gold thread. House Saevek’s crest sat proudly on the right breast, while reinforced panels on the shoulders, forearms, and torso gave it a subtle armor-like elegance without sacrificing flexibility. Matching riding trousers and tall, sturdy boots completed the ensemble.

When I stepped out in the full outfit, it was as if it had been made for my soul. I barely recognized the person in the mirror. I felt… different. Stronger. Prouder. Like a true rider of an ancient dragon.

Cor’seveka watched from the entrance, his amber eye glowing with deep pride and open admiration. “You are breathtaking, my rider. Strong. Elegant. Worthy. The world will look at you and know you belong to me… and I to you.”

Elyndra stepped back, clearly satisfied. “It suits you perfectly. The weave will keep you comfortable in any condition, and the fire resistance is among our finest. Shall we move on to the saddle?”

I could barely contain my emotions as Kaelor motioned for the leatherworkers to bring forward the saddle on a reinforced display stand. It was everything I had hoped for and more: beautiful obsidian black as the base, with flowing crimson and molten gold accents that caught the light dramatically. The words “Hearts Bound, Wings Eternal” were masterfully tooled and inlaid with living crystal along the high cantle. House Saevek’s crest was elegantly incorporated on both sides. The seat was deep and secure, with a high, wing-like backrest and subtle spine channels designed to fit perfectly between Cor’seveka’s massive ridges. Temperature regulation weave, a discreet storage compartment, reinforced aetherweave straps, and padded thigh grips completed the piece.

Master Kaelor bowed slightly. “It is nearly complete. We only need your final approval before we make the last adjustments and fit it to Lord Cor’seveka.”

Cor’seveka lowered his head further, carefully sniffing and pressing his snout against the leather and frame with gentle reverence. After a long moment, he let out a deep, satisfied rumble that vibrated through the entire workshop.

“It feels… excellent. Light enough not to burden me, yet strong and secure. The spine channels fit perfectly with no pressure. The materials are supple where they need to be and reinforced where they must. I can already imagine you seated there, stable, and comfortable no matter how we fly.” He nuzzled my side gently. “And you thought of my comfort first… even in this moment. That touches me more than any beauty or ornamentation ever could, my rider.”

The artisans exchanged impressed, almost emotional glances. Kaelor bowed deeply. “Your rider’s heart is truly noble, Lord Cor’seveka. It is rare to see such consideration for the dragon’s well-being. We are deeply honored to craft for a bond like yours.”

I climbed up and settled into the saddle, testing the feel. “This is fantastic… with this we should be able to dive or barrel roll without worry. Not that I’m asking you to, mind!”

Cor’seveka let out a deep, warm rumble of satisfaction as I shifted in the seat. “It feels excellent. Secure, balanced, and light. I can already tell it will let me dive, roll, and soar without restriction while keeping you safe. You chose well, my rider.”

I slid back down, heart full. The artisans watched with quiet smiles.

Kaelor bowed once more. “Your words mean more than you realize. May your bond continue to shine brightly.”

Cor’seveka lowered his neck so I could remount comfortably. Once I was settled in the new saddle, he launched into the sky with a powerful, graceful beat of his wings.

“You look perfect seated there,” he murmured through the bond, voice warm with pride. “Proud. Strong. Most importantly, mine.”

We flew for a while in comfortable silence, the wind rushing past us, as we made our way toward the Amphitheater. The moment the massive structure first came into view, I had to admit it—I was terrified.

---

The Ascension Proclamation – Grand Spire Amphitheater

The vast arena was packed. Thousands of Sirian citizens, nobles, and dragons filled the tiered seats and floating platforms. A reverent hush fell over the crowd as Cor’seveka and I entered the center of the great stone circle.

My new riding attire gleamed under the sunlight—obsidian black with shifting crimson and gold accents that caught every ray like living flame. Cor’seveka stood tall and majestic beside me, his colossal obsidian form radiating ancient, undeniable power. His amber eyes were calm on the surface, but through our bond I felt the deep tide of pride, love, and quiet awe flowing between us.

Master Saevek stood as my official witness at a respectful distance. The weight of history pressed down on me, yet so did an electric sense of awe and anticipation.

The High Speaker—an aged pastel-blue Kelva—stepped forward, her voice amplified across the entire amphitheater:

“Today we witness the Ascension of a new bond: Rider Jon of Terra and Cor’seveka, the Primeval. Step forward and declare your union before the Council, the Houses, and the people of Sirius.”

Cor’seveka lowered his head so I could stand close against him. His voice resonated warmly in my mind, steady and full of love.

“This is our moment, my rider. Speak from your heart. I am here with you, and I am proud.”

The entire amphitheater waited in profound silence. Thousands of eyes rested on us. My heart thundered, but I drew strength from the warm presence of my dragon and the fire still etched into my skin. I stepped forward, hand resting over my heart, and spoke with calm, unwavering confidence—every word born from love.

“I, Jon of Terra, stand before you all today in the presence of Cor’seveka, revered ancient, whose fire burned away my fears and doubts so that I might stand beside him. Barely a few revolutions ago, I had nothing. Now, the bond we share transcends species. It was always innate in me, only made stronger through the Fang and Scale ritual.

If someone asked me what it means to be a dragon rider, I would tell them it is not a literal title. It is far deeper. Being a dragon rider is to become one with the heart of the dragon. You walk with the dragon. You fly with the dragon. You breathe with the dragon. To me, it is the ultimate honor to represent this ancestral role. My goal is to serve as a bridge between our peoples—to eliminate the loneliness and isolation that have wounded dragonkind, to soothe the rage and sorrow that grip their hearts, and to stand at dragonkind’s side for the rest of my life.

Through this, I ask the dragon I was blessed with—the ancient Cor’seveka—to grant me the strength and wisdom to serve the heart of the dragon to the best of my ability.”

I pressed my hand firmly over my heart, voice ringing clear across the arena.

“Hearts Bound. Wings Eternal.”

A profound, breathless silence fell over the Grand Spire Amphitheater. My words echoed off the mountain walls. For several heartbeats, no one moved.

Then Cor’seveka unleashed a deep, resonant roar—not of aggression, but of pure, overwhelming emotion. The sound vibrated through the stone beneath my feet and echoed across the amphitheater. He lowered his massive head beside me, amber eye glowing with fierce pride and boundless affection. His voice rolled outward, powerful and clear, so the entire gathering could hear:

“Hearts Bound. Wings Eternal.”

He gently pressed the side of his colossal snout against my chest, right over my heart—a public gesture of absolute acceptance and love. My knees nearly buckled. Tears stung my eyes as the intensity of the moment threatened to overwhelm me.

Suddenly, the sky above darkened. One by one, powerful silhouettes descended from the clouds. Massive dragons—descendants of ancient bloodlines—landed gracefully around the edges of the arena. Their scales shimmered in deep crimson, obsidian, sapphire, and molten gold. Instead of roaring in challenge, they bowed their heads low in unison, acknowledging us both.

The crowd gasped. This, I would later learn, was unprecedented.

The High Speaker stepped forward again, her voice trembling with awe.

“Never in recorded history has an ancient of Cor’seveka’s lineage accepted a rider with such public reverence, nor have so many elder dragons come to witness a single Ascension.”

She raised her staff. Glowing runes flared across the arena floor.

“By the will of the Ancestors and the Council of Wings, I hereby proclaim Jon as the official rider of Cor’seveka. Let their bond be recognized across Sirius and beyond.”

The amphitheater erupted in a thunderous roar of cheers, draconic calls, and applause. The elder dragons lifted their heads and roared in unison—a sound so powerful it shook the very air.

Cor’seveka curled the tip of his wing gently around me, shielding me from the overwhelming noise while pulling me closer against his warm scales. It was not possessiveness. It was love—pure, protective, and profound.

“You have done it, my rider,” he whispered tenderly through the bond. “They see you now. They see us.”

He lowered his snout beside me again, breath warm and steady. “I am yours. And you are mine. Hearts Bound… Wings Eternal.”

I broke. Tears streamed down my face as I pressed myself against his snout, kissing him repeatedly—again and again—until I could finally speak.

“I am yours, and you are mine. Hearts Bound. Wings Eternal.”

I turned toward the elder dragons. Something deeper than courage moved me. I walked forward and bowed low before them in deep reverence.

“The words I spoke mirror my emotions and reverence for you as well, Hallowed Ones. Although my trust in others sometimes wavers, my trust in each and every one of you is absolute. My faith in dragonkind is unshakable. To all those bonded like Cor’seveka, I hope to make your riders—now my brothers and sisters—proud.”

I placed my hand over my heart once more, meeting each ancient gaze with the softest, most reverent expression I could offer.

“Hearts Bound. Wings Eternal.”

The dragons pierced me with their souls for a long moment… then roared triumphantly in response. The sound washed over me like a blessing.

Cor’seveka waited for the roar to fade, then lowered his head beside me again, voice incredibly warm and full of affection.

“You have spoken with your whole heart, and they have heard you.”

He pressed his snout gently against my chest once more. Saevek stepped forward, visibly moved.

“You did beautifully,” the levyataan said. “I have never seen the elder dragons respond like this to a new rider. My trust was not misplaced. I will have a room arranged for you in the rider quadrant. Welcome to your new home, Rider Jon.”