The morning sun rose in quiet splendor over the realm of the Aetherwrought, draping the land in radiant gold as if to honor the dragons who called it home.
Kaelen woke with the weight of the next day's trial pressing on his chest like a second heartbeat. The morning was still, save for the slow rhythm of wind breathing through the stone, and the distant calls of morning dragons in flight. His limbs ached with tension held too long in sleep, but it was the kind of ache he welcomed. It was proof that his body remembered the training, the discipline, the fire he'd been forging for years. Tomorrow, the Prodigy Trial would either burn him down or awaken something great within him, as with all the dragons before him. And for now, all he could do was breathe.
Kaelen had the quiet, coiled energy of someone caught between two worlds, the mortal calm of his humanoid shape and the intense, slumbering power of the dragon in him. Like all members of the Aetherwrought clan, he lived day-to-day in his humanoid form, the draconian form being far too taxing to maintain for long. Even among dragons, true transformation was a rare and revered gift. One earned through the Prodigy Trial, the ancient rite that marked the ascension to a fully awakened dragon.
In this form, Kaelen still bore unmistakable signs of his bloodline. His eyes, framed by high cheekbones and a stern brow, were not quite mortal. They were slit-pupiled, with irises the color of burning coals. They glowed faintly in low light, revealing the fire that lived just beneath his skin.
His shoulder-length hair was black with streaks of red at the tips, like someone had dragged a coal through soot. The colors weren't dyed, they were his, as much a part of him as the heat in his veins. He dressed simply, in the fitted leathers worn by most Aetherwrought warriors, though his bore the subtle marks of a Prodigy-in-training. A clasp shaped like a dragon's eye at his collar, and faint, sigil-like embroidery running the length of his sleeves.
There was a quiet tension to him, a kind of restraint. The sort that came from knowing you were born to be more than average.
***
Standing up to his feet, he stretched his wings wide, the dense iridescent membranes catching the light and shimmering while moving the air around them with intense force. Dust lifted in swirling eddies around him. He stepped out of his space into the clear opening, bathing himself in the shining sunlight.
Kaelen moved toward his destination with practiced ease, offering nods and quiet greetings along the way. Though revered as the Talented, he was still one among many after all, an essential thread in the vast tapestry of the clan.
His first stop was the training grounds for the dragonkins carved into the cavern's heart, a spacious arena lined with solid runic crystalline pillars that hummed with arcane energy. Here, the younger dragons honed their skills, their roars echoing like thunder as they practiced flight, fire-breathing, and combat.
A pair of dragonkins tumbled clumsily near the edge of the field, their scales dull and unformed compared to Kaelen's radiant shimmer. One tripped, tumbling into a pile of dust nearby.
They reminded him of himself when he was younger, he had always looked at every particular Talented of each set with stars in his eyes. The prodigy trials were more or less the most eventful days he had to look forward to in a year.
Kaelen smiled softly and approached, his voice low and steady. "Careful, little ones. Strength is born of patience."
Lending a hand to the fallen one closest one to him.
The dragonkins looked up, wide-eyed, their fear giving way to admiration. It was moments like these,the simple connections and admiration that grounded Kaelen and brought smiles to his face amid the weight of destiny.
After a brief visit, he moved on to the forge chamber where the clan's smiths worked tirelessly. Stepping into extremely hot space- even for a dragon. His eyes scanned around for his target who seemed to be nowhere in sight. The flames danced from giant forges, their heat intense enough to warp metal with a thought. In this chamber, weapons and armor were crafted from rare celestial metals, enchanted to withstand the fury of divine fire.
Kaelen's presence stirred a respectful silence as the lead smith, a grizzled dragon named Rulmar, approached. His scales were dark as obsidian, and his eyes held the wisdom of countless battles.
"The trial draws near, Kaelen," Rulmar rumbled, voice as steady as the anvil's ring. "The elders expect much of you."
Kaelen nodded, feeling the familiar knot of anticipation tighten in his chest. The trial was a rite of passage, a test put in place to measure not only his power but his control, his spirit, and his resolve. It had stood for centuries, a stage every dragon who had become true dragons had had to go through once in their lifetime.
"I will not fail," Kaelen replied, though a flicker of doubt passed behind his calm exterior.
Rulmar's gaze softened. "None of us walk without fear. Courage is the strength to move forward despite it. Okay?"
Kaelen nodded, the old dragon could see beyond his facade.
"Have you seen Kitar today??"
"Yes. I sent him to get some things for me. He won't be back until evening probably.
***
The day unfolded in quiet routine. Moments of training, meditation by the crystalline pools, communal meals shared beneath vaulted ceilings. Kaelen sought solace in the familiar rhythms, away from his churning mind.
Even amidst all these camaraderie, the sense of isolation lingered. Many in the clan admired him, but few truly understood the tempest within. He was a beacon, yes, but also a target for expectation, for envy.
***
In the late afternoon, Kaelen sought out Syllara, the red-scaled warrior whose sharp wit and steady presence had become a comfort. They met at the edge of the training grounds for the adult dragons where the cavern opened onto a vista of jagged peaks and swirling mists.
Syllara stood with the poise of someone born to command storms. In her humanoid form, she retained the unmistakable traits of her draconic lineage with skin like molten garnet. Her eyes, slit-pupiled and ember-bright, missed nothing as they scanned the horizon. Her leathery wings were folded neatly behind her like a velvet cloak of living flame. A sword rested at her hip, though it seemed an afterthought; her true power radiated from the confidence in her stance and the calm focus in her gaze.
Kaelen approached with a slight incline of his head, respectful but easy in her presence. "You're early," he said, his voice soft against the wind curling around the peaks.
Syllara turned toward him with a half-smile, the kind that hinted at amusement and warning all at once. "You're late," she replied, folding her arms and shifting her weight with fluid grace. "But I suppose you brought something interesting to make up for it?"
Her tone was light, but Kaelen could feel the warmth beneath it, the very warmth that had drawn him here more often than he liked to admit.