The Dragon Ascendant (1)

Freya fumbled nervously with the straps of her emerald silk robe, trying to secure it around her waist. Alsike glanced over from where she was smoothing the sheets on the bed. "Do you need assistance with that?" she offered gently.

"Uh... no thank you," Freya replied, unaccustomed to having someone attend to her personal needs. She sighed heavily, the weight of her turbulent thoughts evident in her voice. "I'm just... a little nervous." She admitted. 

Alsike approached with a compassionate expression. "I can only imagine," she said, offering a sympathetic nod. "But remember, the covenant will look after you."

"Yes, but they still expect me to deliver results," Freya confided. "And I'm certain these men won't appreciate me assessing them, only to report their strengths and weaknesses back to the covenant."

"They understand it's part of the process. They can't hold that against you," Alsike tried to reassure her.

Freya merely nodded, her expression unconvinced. As she pinned her hair up, she attempted to focus on the positives. All her life, she had only heard tales of Eldrador and its inhabitants. The only mythical beings she had encountered were witches and, on one occasion, a Valkyrie. Now, she was about to step into a world brimming with the creatures of lore she had only read about—fae, demons, vampires, werewolves, dragons, horders, phoenixes, nymphs, and many more. There was a whole universe to discover and learn from.

"So, who is the Dragon Ascendant? You must know of him," Freya inquired curiously.

"He is known as Roarke—The Fierce," Alsike replied.

"The Fierce?" Freya raised her brows. 

"Yes, he's considered the most powerful among the dragons, perhaps even the most powerful of all ascendants," Alsike explained as she continued tidying the room. "Dragons can be quite arrogant, having dominated the Ascendant Rite for many years. They are immensely proud creatures, but they have the strength to justify their pride. Just so you know…" she smirked. 

Alsike wasn't a dragon. She was a fae but from the way she spoke, she sounded like she was fond of the dragons. A special kind of fondness. 

"I see..." Freay said. So her first encounter would be with the proud ones. 

She slipped on her shoes, deciding not to ask any more questions as it might only heighten her anxiety.

Stepping out of her chambers, she was greeted by Alvar and Ivan, who were already waiting for her. "Good morning," she greeted them warmly.

"Good morning," Alvar responded with a polite nod.

"So, we are off to dragon land today," she remarked casually as they began their stroll down the opulent hallway.

"It is called Dakkhor," Alvar corrected with a tone of pride.

Freya nodded, casting a glance at him. Good lord, he was tall. "Since you are a dragon, are you rooting for a dragon to win the Rite?" she asked.

A confident smirk played across Alvar's lips. "A dragon will win," he asserted firmly.

Oh, the pride is palpable, she mused, slightly amused by his certainty.

"A dragon will win, or Roarke-the Fierce will win?" she probed further, wondering if his confidence stemmed from tribal pride or a specific allegiance to Roarke.

"Only the best of us will ascend," he stated.

So he also thought Roarke was the best among them.

As they reached the outdoors, Alvar inquired, "Are you afraid of heights?"

"No," she replied.

"Then you will ride on my back," he announced decisively.

She raised her eyebrows in astonishment. What? I'm to fly? On a dragon?

He moved ahead, descending the steps of the courthouse before transforming into a massive white dragon. 

She had glimpsed a few dragons soaring through the skies the night before, but witnessing one this close underscored their colossal size. The span of his wings alone seemed to exceed 20 feet. She wondered, How on earth am I supposed to mount such a creature?

"Are you sure you're not afraid of heights?" Ivan teased, noticing her fixed gaze.

Hell, no. This is an adventure, she thought, her excitement surging. "I'm just not sure how to climb up," she admitted.

"Just move forward; he will assist you," Ivan encouraged.

Following his advice, Freya approached cautiously. Alvar, in his dragon form, extended his wing toward her like a regal ramp. Tentatively, she stepped onto it, finding surprisingly that the scales provided a stable grip and felt smooth under her touch, neither scratching nor hurting her. They were almost like staircase, where he bent half his wing to take her up and the other to ascend and sit on his back. 

Once atop, Alvar gently nudged her with his wing, guiding her to the optimal seating area near his neck where the scales were larger and more secure. She settled herself there, grasping the sturdy scales. Once securely positioned, she exhaled deeply and declared with newfound resolve, "Let's fly."

Alvar's powerful wings unfurled, stirring up a whirlwind of dust as they beat against the cool morning air. With a mighty leap, he launched himself skyward, the force of his ascent pressing Freya firmly against his scaled back. As they climbed higher, the ground fell away, revealing a breathtaking panorama below—rolling mountains, networks of rivers, and clusters of ancient buildings.

Flying on a dragon's back was nothing like Freya had ever experienced. The wind rushed past her, exhilarating and chilling at the same time. 

They soared over lush valleys and towering peaks, the landscape painting a vivid tableau of nature's grandeur. A breathtaking scenery unfolded beneath them, a blend of earthy greens, deep blues, and the occasional glint of sunlight reflecting off distant lakes.

Their journey culminated as they approached Dakkhor, which was mostly mountains and waterfalls. The architecture of the buildings was a blend of intricate carvings and towering columns, all crafted from golden-hued stones that shimmered under the sun. Statues of dragons and mythical figures adorned the facade, adding to the mystical allure of the place.

Alvar gracefully descended onto a wide courtyard paved with smooth stones. Freya slid off his back, her legs trembling slightly from the flight. She stood awe-struck, her eyes absorbing every detail of the opulent surroundings—the vibrant mosaics, the fluttering silk banners, and the fragrant blooms that perfumed the air.

Alvar and Ivan led her through the grand archways into the palace. Inside, Freya quickly noticed the attire and style of the dragonfolk. The men donned simple linen tunics, some paired with vests, cinched at the waist with ornate belts, while the women wore elegantly draped dresses, also belted, and draped over one shoulder. 

Their complexions ranged from sun-kissed to deep bronze, their hair dark and lustrous. Both men and women were tall and statusque making her suddenly feel tiny in comparison. Well, she was. 

They approached a room, its entrance draped with opulent, thick curtains. As they neared, a few women emerged, stepping briskly with trays laden with aromatic oils and fresh linens. One of them paused, her gaze flitting between Ivan and Alvar as if assessing their intent. "The healer is here," Ivan announced. 

The woman gave a curt nod and slipped back behind the curtain. Moments later, she reappeared, parting the curtains and gesturing for Freya to enter. 

Freya glanced towards Ivan and Alvar, despite knowing that meetings with the ascendants were to be faced alone, yet as she stood at the threshold, her stomach knotted with trepidation.

Inhaling deeply to steady her nerves, Freya stepped forward. The curtain fell softly behind her, its heavy fabric sealing her inside. She was immediately enveloped by a warm, moist atmosphere rich with the scents of jasmine and honey, the air thick enough to cloak her in its balmy embrace. 

She had entered what was clearly a bathing chamber. 

Ahead, a large pool or tub commanded the center of the room, its steaming waters sending tendrils of vapor twirling around the ornate white columns that supported the vaulted ceiling. Several women were arrayed around the tub, their hands gently gliding over the surface of the water, adjusting floating flower petals and pouring scented oils that released more fragrant steam into the air. They turned at Freya's entrance, then glanced at each other. 

At the center of this group of women, a large brawny hand emerged from the misty waters, gesturing dismissively. As the women obediently stepped back, more of the man emerged into view.