Chapter Text
The wind howled like a living thing as Alex Claremont-Diaz hurtled through the sky.
From the cliffs, he would have been nothing more than a streak of copper and scarlet against the deep blue, a blur of wings and wild laughter. Ignis, his dragon, was fire incarnate: sleek, lean, and arrogant, with wings that shimmered like embers and a tail that flicked like a whip of flame. The two of them flew like they’d been born for it. No, like the sky itself bent to make room for them.
Alex leaned forward over the ridged spine, muscles tight with focus and thrill. “Come on, baby, faster!” he whooped into the rushing air, and Ignis responded with a growl that rattled Alex’s bones. The dragon tucked his wings, shot down in a sharp dive, and spiraled dangerously close to the ocean’s surface.
A less confident rider might have panicked. Alex grinned wider, daring the sea spray to reach him.
The Claremont-Diaz Territory rose behind them in jagged cliffs and winding paths, scattered with stone watchtowers and dragon-perch platforms carved from the mountainside. Smoke curled from chimneys where smiths worked molten metal, and dragon trainers barked orders across the training fields. To the west, towering peaks hid the caves where dragons roosted, ancient and untamed.
But none of that held Alex’s attention right now. Right now, it was just him and the wind, the world spread out beneath them, and the roar of freedom in his chest.
He angled Ignis toward a narrow rock pillar jutting from the sea like a broken fang. It was a maneuver he’d only ever thought about, threading the gap between stone and sea, wings half-folded, timing the turn just right. Dangerous. Reckless. Which made it perfect.
“You with me?” Alex murmured, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ignis didn’t answer with words, he never did, but the tension in his body shifted. The dragon was ready. Always ready.
They dove.
The wind screamed louder as the rocks rushed up to meet them. Alex’s fingers tightened around the saddle grips. Water licked the dragon’s claws, and the jagged stone rose like a blade. At the last second, Ignis twisted his body, wings flicking open just enough to catch the air. They shot through the narrow gap, clean, seamless, a blur of muscle and heat and instinct.
Alex whooped again, wild and loud, throwing one hand in the air like he was daring the gods to catch him. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Ignis flared his wings and banked upward, circling in triumph. The dragon’s heat radiated through Alex’s boots and calves, even through the specially treated riding leathers. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, but he didn’t care. He lived for this.
He loved the sky, not just the speed, but the way it made everything make sense. Down there, people were complicated. Rules. Expectations. History. Politics. All of it tangled. But up here?
Up here, he was just Alex, and the dragon beneath him didn’t care about titles or legacy. Ignis only cared that Alex was strong, fast, and brave. And maybe just a little stupid.
When they landed back at the main perch, a wide, flat outcrop of dark stone overlooking the bay, Alex swung down from the saddle with a flourish that made two of the younger trainees gasp. He gave them a mock bow.
“You’re welcome,” he said grandly. “That’s how it’s done.”
One of the younger riders, a boy maybe twelve, blinked up at him. “You almost died.”
Alex grinned. “But I didn't.”
The boy looked horrified. The girl next to him whispered, “Cool.”
Ignis snorted, flames curling from his nostrils in a way that was definitely judgmental. Alex reached up and scratched the spot under the dragon’s jaw, where the scales went smooth and soft. “What? You loved it.”
Ignis rumbled low in his throat, then turned to stretch his wings in the sunlight, clearly dismissing the conversation. Alex rolled his eyes fondly.
“Show-off,” he muttered. Then, more quietly, “You were perfect.”
From behind him came a sharp voice laced with disapproval. “You’re late for your assignment. Again.”
Alex didn’t have to turn to know who it was. The only person on this side of the continent who could make his name sound like both a scolding and a disappointment in four syllables: Zahra.
He sighed and turned with a casual salute. “Good morning to you too, Commander.”
Zahra’s arms were crossed, brows arched like she was deciding whether to lecture or banish him. “That stunt was idiotic. If you’d misjudged your timing by even a breath—”
“But I didn’t.”
“You never do, and that’s exactly why you think you’re untouchable.”
“I’m not—” Alex started, but Zahra raised a hand, cutting him off with practiced authority.
“You’re talented. One of the best flyers I’ve seen at your age. But talent and impulsivity are a dangerous combination.” Her voice dropped slightly. “Especially for someone who can’t afford mistakes.”
That part hit closer to home than Alex wanted to admit. He looked away, down at the sea.
Zahra stepped closer, her tone softening just slightly. “You’re not just some kid with a dragon anymore, Alex. You’re the Cheif's son. People look to you. They follow your lead. You can’t keep flying like you’ve got nothing to lose.”
Alex’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I don't fly like I’ve got nothing to lose. I fly like I’ve got something to prove.”
Zahra didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him for a long moment, then finally said, “Report to the war room in an hour. Your mother wants a word.”
Alex groaned. “She’s going to give me the speech again, isn’t she?”
Zahra smirked. “You deserve it.”
As she walked off, Ignis tilted his head and gave Alex a look that was definitely smug.
Alex groaned again and dragged a hand through his wind-tangled hair. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m amazing, and you know it.”
Ignis flicked his tail in the dirt and huffed.
Alex turned his face toward the sky one last time, watching gulls spiral over the waves, wings catching the wind with ease.
Up there, it was all so easy. Down here?
Down here, things were only going to get harder.
But he wasn’t ready to come down just yet.
“Come on,” he said to Ignis, already striding back toward the saddle. “One more run. I’m not letting Zahra’s lecture be the last thing I hear before breakfast.”
Ignis flicked his wings in irritation, but relented. The dragon crouched, letting Alex mount up, and with a few heavy wingbeats, they were airborne again.
This time, Alex aimed for the upper thermals, higher than most riders ever dared to go without protective goggles. He didn’t need them. His eyes watered from the wind and cold, sure, but the sting was part of it. It meant he was alive.
“Ignis, let’s do the spin-drop,” Alex called over the roar of the wind. “The triple. Come on, we’ve been practicing it!”
The dragon’s muscles coiled beneath him in protest. Even Ignis had limits... and opinions.
“We’ve got this,” Alex insisted, grinning. “Fast up, sharp turn, three barrel rolls, then we drop straight down and skim the ridge.”
He felt, more than heard, Ignis sigh. But the dragon tilted his wings and climbed.
They rose like a flame catching air, Alex grinning wide, his heart thudding. The wind was fierce now, pushing against them like it wanted to knock them from the sky. Perfect.
They reached the peak of their ascent, and Alex gave the signal.
Ignis flipped into the first barrel roll: Clean.
Second roll: tight, faster.
The third: a slight wobble. One which Alex adjusted too late.
“Ignis—!”
The wind caught them sideways. The dragon’s wing clipped an updraft too sharply, and suddenly the world was tilting too fast, too far.
They spiraled.
The sky spun into sea, then cliff, then sky again. Alex clung to the saddle, teeth clenched as they dropped like a stone. Ignis flailed, struggling to correct the angle, but their velocity was wrong. Off-balance, off-rhythm.
“Pull up!” Alex shouted, uselessly.
Ignis tried.
But it was too late.
They crashed into the outer edge of the landing perch, wings smacking the stone, sending a spray of rocks flying. The impact knocked Alex clean out of the saddle. He tumbled onto the ground with a crunch and a wild, choked gasp, rolling over his shoulder until he smacked into a crate of spare tack.
The crate exploded on impact.
Harnesses and wing-wraps rained down on him like angry leather snakes.
“Fuck,” Alex groaned, face-first on the ground, tangled in strapping.
Somewhere to his left, Ignis was making the unmistakable snorting sound of a dragon trying, and failing, not to laugh.
The two young trainees were still watching. One of them gasped. The other burst out laughing.
Zahra’s voice, icy as sleet, rang from the balcony above.
“Claremont-Diaz, you absolute menace.”
Alex rolled onto his back, blinked up at the sky, and let out a breathless, wincing laugh.
“Totally… worth it.”
Ignis padded over and dropped his enormous head next to Alex’s torso. The dragon exhaled a puff of hot breath across his face that smelled faintly of burnt seaweed.
Alex was still lying in a tangle of broken harness straps and bruised pride when the steady beat of boots reached his ears, not rushed, not panicked. Just... familiar.
“Graceful,” said a voice above him, amused and exasperated in equal measure. “Truly elegant. I’m surprised the sky hasn’t written you a thank-you letter.”
Alex groaned and tipped his head back over the smashed remnants of the crate. “I am injured, June. Crushed. A victim of my own brilliance.”
“You’re a victim of showing off again,” June said, crouching beside him. “Seriously, you’re lucky you didn’t shatter your spine. Or worse, your reputation.”
He dragged a harness strap off his chest and shot her a lopsided grin. “Can’t break what’s already legendary.”
“Can’t repair what doesn’t exist,” she shot back. “Also, just a heads-up, Mother's coming.”
Alex paused. “…How mad?”
June winced. “Mad-mad. Like, 'Chief Claremont is questioning all her life choices' mad.”
Alex sat up with a hiss of pain. “Okay, that’s dramatic. This isn’t even my worst crash.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately, this one was in full view of a new trainee squad and the Sky Guard quartermaster, who now thinks you're a cautionary tale.”
“She’s not wrong.”
June gave him a look. “You’re about five seconds away from having your saddle confiscated.”
As if summoned by her words, a crisp voice rang out from the stone steps leading up to the overlook. “If only that would work.”
Alex grimaced. “...Hi, Mom.”
Chief Ellen Claremont strode toward them with the presence of a thunderstorm on the horizon. Her command coat, crimson-trimmed with the Claremont-Diaz crest stitched in silver thread, snapped behind her in the wind. Her hair was braided tight, her eyes sharper than obsidian.
Even Ignis dipped his head slightly as she approached, nostrils flaring warily.
“Alex,” she said in that cool, low tone that managed to carry across a battlefield, or a flight deck, with equal force. “Do tell me what exactly you thought would be accomplished by trying to barrel roll through a cliff updraft?”
He scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off. “Well, in theory —”
“No.” Her voice sliced cleanly across his reply. “There is no ‘in theory’ when it comes to diving at terminal velocity over the sea. There is no glory in a stunt crash. There is no honor in idiocy. You’re not twelve anymore, Alex.”
He opened his mouth, shut it, and glanced at June for help.
She gave him a tight-lipped “you’re-on-your-own” smile.
Ellen folded her arms. “You’ve been Ignis’s bonded rider for four years. You're old enough to represent the Claremont-Diaz name, and you’ve been trained by the best fliers in the Territories. And yet today, I receive a Sky Guard report that my son, my heir, somersaulted a dragon into a supply crate because he was performing like a drunken swan.”
Alex winced. “Technically, the crate hit me.”
Ellen's eyes narrowed.
“I mean, sorry,” he said quickly.
She turned slightly, her gaze following the distant haze over the eastern cliffs. The morning mist still clung to the jagged rock edges beyond the Claremont-Diaz borders, obscuring the line between sea and sky.
“We don’t have time for this,” she said, quieter now. “Not anymore.”
Alex blinked. “Time for what?”
Ellen’s jaw tightened. “The Royal Isles have increased their patrols again. Mistland border scouts reported banners last week, gold and navy. Too close to our skies.”
June straightened. “That’s the third time this month.”
“The Fourth now,” Ellen corrected. “And this time, they didn’t even try to stay hidden.”
Alex crossed his arms. “They’re testing us.”
“Or taunting us,” June added.
Chief Claremont didn’t reply. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the fog was beginning to break, unveiling the jagged line of the Mistlands that marked the invisible boundary between the Claremont-Diaz Territories and the cold, watchful skies of the Royal Isles.
“They’re trying to provoke us into firing the first spark,” she said eventually. “And if we do, if even one of our riders crosses into contested airspace, Philip will declare it an act of aggression.”
Philip.
The name landed like a lead weight in Alex’s stomach.
Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, High King of the Royal Isles. Cold. Ruthless. Brilliant in the way knives were brilliant. He’d taken the crown only a year ago after the death of King James, and already the skies had grown more hostile.
Everyone had hoped Henry, his younger brother, would take the throne instead. Henry, the quiet one, the diplomatic one. The one who didn’t smile with teeth.
But Philip had risen. And peace had started to unravel.
“I don’t think Philip wants peace,” Alex muttered.
“I don’t think he ever did,” Ellen agreed. “Which is why you need to be smarter than this. If our riders look careless, if our leaders seem weak—”
“Then he’ll think we’re ready to fall,” June finished.
Alex let out a frustrated breath. “So what? You want me to start flying like an accountant? No spins, no dives, just straight lines and paperwork?”
“I want you alive,” Ellen said sharply. “And prepared. I want the people to see their future chief as someone they can trust. Not a hotheaded spark waiting to ignite.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Alex nodded, once. “Okay.”
Ellen blinked. “Okay?”
“I’ll show them,” he said. “That I can be more than a spark. I’ll be the whole damn fire.”
Ellen raised an eyebrow, but there was the faintest flicker of pride beneath her exhaustion. “Briefing’s at moonrise. You’ll attend. And if I hear anything about mid-flight flips before then…”
“You’ll ground me?”
“I’ll ground Ignis.”
Alex gasped. “That’s barbaric.”
“Ignis deserves better,” June added solemnly.
Ignis rumbled with smug amusement, curling his tail neatly around his talons.
Ellen turned away with a shake of her head and a sharp whistle to her hawk scout. “You’ve got till moonrise to clean yourself up. Don’t be late.”
As she strode off toward the upper keep, June looked at her brother, still brushing dust from his pants and dignity.
“You know she’s right,” she said. “Things are shifting.”
Alex glanced again toward the east, where the clouds above the Mistlands seemed to churn darker than before.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”
Something was coming. He could feel it in the air, in Ignis’s restlessness, in the way Ellen’s hands had trembled for half a second before she’d steadied them.
Something sharp.
Something royal.
By nightfall, the briefing hall inside the Claremont-Diaz stronghold was thick with tension.
The high chamber, carved into the stone of the cliffs, overlooked the sea with arched windows and columns shaped like dragon wings. Braziers cast flickering light across the long central table, where carved names of past leaders, Claremonts, Diazes, and those who bore both, glinted in gold leaf. Outside, thunder rolled over the ocean in slow, distant pulses.
Alex took his seat late.
He hadn’t intended to. He’d washed the dirt off, wrapped his bruised ribs, even tamed his hair into something vaguely less rebellious, but by the time he reached the hall, the conversation was already underway. And the air had shifted.
Chief Claremont stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, followed by Councilor Jeannot, the Mistland representative, and Marshal Reyes of the Sky Guard. June sat to one side, her face unreadable. Maps lay unrolled on the table, inked with swirling boundaries and red feather marks. A silver dragon pendant, the Claremont-Diaz symbol, gleamed on her chest, catching the firelight.
Alex slipped into his seat beside June. She leaned over.
“They started without you,” she whispered.
He nodded toward Ellen. “I figured.”
Ellen didn’t look at him, but her voice carried across the chamber like a blade on steel.
“As of this morning,” she said, “our eastern scouts have confirmed unusual flight patterns over Sector V-9: the uncharted ridgelands past the Shattered Cliffs. For those of you unfamiliar with the map, that’s forbidden territory. No bonded dragons have clearance there.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Jeannot, the representative, stepped forward. “Our last border treaty with the Royal Isles designated that ridge as a neutral no-fly zone. It’s unclaimed, unstable, and magically volatile. If a rogue dragon is operating there, it’s not one of ours.”
“It’s also not theirs,” Reyes added sharply. “Which raises the question: who's is it?”
Ellen exhaled slowly. “We don’t know. But something is flying that space. Fast. Silent. Unmarked.”
Alex frowned. “Could be a wild. One that never bonded.”
“Wilds don’t fly like this,” Reyes replied. “Not with this kind of precision. Our sentries barely caught a glimpse. Black wings, no saddle, no signal. It vanished into the peaks like smoke.”
“And what do the Royal Isles say?” asked June.
Jeannot raised an unimpressed brow. “Nothing. Their diplomatic office ‘has no knowledge of flight anomalies’ and considers the report ‘an internal Claremont-Diaz concern.’”
“That’s convenient,” Alex muttered.
Ellen turned her gaze on him at last. “It is convenient. And dangerous. Which is why we need answers before rumors start spreading through the Territories.”
There was a pause. Alex’s stomach twisted, not with nerves, but with something deeper. Anticipation.
Then Ellen said, “We’re sending a single rider. A stealth approach. Quiet. Fast. No engagement unless necessary.”
She looked directly at him.
“Alex.”
The room went still.
“What?” he said, too fast.
“You’re going,” she said simply. “You’ll fly at first light. Survey the region. Find this dragon. Observe. Return.”
For once, Alex didn’t try to joke. “Why me?”
“Because Ignis is the fastest flier we have,” Ellen said. “Because you know the Mistland skies better than most commanders twice your age. And because you owe me a very quiet, very responsible mission.”
A few councilors exchanged looks, and Alex could feel their skepticism like heat on his skin. He could almost hear them thinking it: He’s not ready. He’s reckless. He nearly broke his neck this morning.
But Ellen wasn’t smiling. She was placing something on him, something bigger than a performance or a title. It was trust. And it felt heavier than any armor he’d worn.
Alex swallowed. “You want me to go alone.”
“You’ll have Ignis,” June said, softer now.
“And what if it’s a trap?” he asked. “What if it’s not a rogue, but something else? A message?”
Ellen didn’t answer right away. “Then we need to hear what it’s saying.”
Later, after the hall had cleared and the braziers were dimming low, Alex found himself in the flight yard, standing beside Ignis’s stall. The dragon was already awake, wings twitching restlessly, eyes glowing gold in the dark.
He ran a hand along Ignis’s scaled flank. “Well, you ready to be subtle for once?”
Ignis let out a long, unimpressed snort.
“I know,” Alex said. “Me neither.”
Overhead, the stars were beginning to pierce through the cloud cover, and somewhere beyond the sea cliffs, thunder rumbled again, but softer now. Like something waiting just out of sight.
He glanced east, toward the ridges where the rogue had been spotted. The forbidden skies. The place no one flew anymore.
Tomorrow, he would.
But tonight, he stood on the edge of everything he knew, wondering if this mission was truly about a rogue dragon, or if it was the start of something much bigger.
And wondering, not for the first time, if he was the spark his mother feared, or the one she was counting on.