Chadwick Rye

The crystalline alarm chimed through our family’s modest quarters on Westwind Platform, but I was already awake, pressed against the transparent wall with my nose creating small fog patches on the cool surface. Six-thirty in the morning, same as every day for the past three months since we’d moved to the outer rings of Cirrus Major. Same time the Skyguard began their dawn patrol.

My breath caught as the first dragon emerged from the Aerie—a massive storm-drake whose scales shifted from deep blue to silver as he caught the early light. Astride his neck sat Commander Zephyr, her sky-blue flight suit gleaming with protective runes, her helmet reflecting the amber sunrise like captured lightning. Even from this distance, I could see the fluid grace with which she moved with her mount, two beings functioning as a single entity of power and purpose.

“Kael, breakfast!” Mother called from the kitchen alcove, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sky.

Three more dragons followed in perfect formation—a wind-serpent whose translucent wings caught the light like stained glass, a thunder-hawk whose feathers crackled with stored electrical energy, and my absolute favorite: Starfall, the juvenile crystal-drake whose hide literally sparkled with embedded gemstones. His rider, Wing-Captain Meridian, was the youngest member of the Skyguard at only nineteen, barely seven years older than me.

I watched them bank toward the eastern approaches, their formation so tight that their wingbeats synchronized into a rhythm I could feel in my chest. The Skyguard protected all of Aethermoor’s floating territories from the wind-pirates who raided between the isles, from storm-beasts that could tear apart undefended platforms, from the occasional rogue dragon that challenged territorial boundaries. They were the most elite aerial force in all the known realms, and every single one of them was absolutely, impossibly cool.

“Kael Stormwind, your porridge is getting cold!” Mother’s voice carried the edge that meant she was moving from patient to annoyed.

“Five more minutes,” I pleaded, though I knew it was futile. “They’re practicing the Spiral Descent formation. Wing-Captain Meridian is leading the dive sequence.”

Father appeared beside me, his wind-weathered hands gentle as he placed them on my shoulders. He’d been a cargo pilot before the accident that damaged his left wing—not dragon-born like the Skyguard, but skilled enough with wind-magic to navigate between platforms safely. Until the crash that ended his flying career and brought us to the outer rings where housing was cheaper.

“Which one is Meridian again?” he asked, though I’d pointed her out hundreds of times before.

“The crystal-drake with the silver-streak patterns. See how she banks left while the others go right? That’s the Meteor Split maneuver. Only the most advanced riders can pull it off without losing formation integrity.” I pressed harder against the wall, trying to follow their rapid descent toward the Lower Cloud territories. “She’s incredible. They all are.”

Father squeezed my shoulders, understanding in his touch. “She is indeed. But even the Skyguard need fuel for their adventures. Come eat, son.”

I reluctantly pulled away from the window as the patrol disappeared into the amber distance, their dragons becoming specks of color against the vast sky that stretched between floating islands. Our breakfast table occupied the center of our small quarters, surrounded by Father’s collection of aerial navigation charts and the wind-singing crystals Mother used in her work as a minor weather-reader.

“I’ve been thinking,” Father said as I spooned up porridge that tasted like clouds and disappointment compared to the excitement outside. “Master Gale mentioned that the Skyguard Training Academy is hosting demonstration flights next month. For potential recruits.”

My spoon clattered against the bowl. “The Academy? They’re doing demonstrations?”

“Preliminary assessments,” Mother corrected, though her eyes held the same spark of possibility that was making my heart race. “They test candidates every few years for the advanced program. Not many make it.”

“What are the requirements?” I asked, though I’d memorized them from the recruitment crystals I’d watched dozens of times. “Besides the age minimum?”

“Twelve years old,” Father recited patiently. “Demonstrated wind-affinity. Basic aerial orientation—meaning you can’t get sky-sick during extended flight. Physical conditioning appropriate for high-altitude operations. And…” He paused, meeting my eyes seriously. “Dragon resonance.”

Dragon resonance. The mysterious connection that allowed certain individuals to bond with the great aerial creatures, to share thought and sensation in the harmony that made true flight possible. It couldn’t be taught or faked, and most people never developed it at all. Even among those who did, only a fraction possessed the strength and stability needed for Skyguard service.

“I know I have it,” I said, the words carrying more confidence than I actually felt. “When I watch them fly, I can almost feel what their dragons feel. The wind patterns, the thermal currents, the joy of diving through cloud-layers. I can sense it, Father. I know I can.”

He exchanged a look with Mother—one of those silent conversations that parents held over their children’s heads, full of worry and hope and protective instincts I couldn’t yet understand.

“The demonstrations include partner-bonding trials,” Mother said carefully. “They bring young dragons, ones still seeking their life-partners. If you’re truly resonant, you’ll be able to establish preliminary contact with one of them.”

The possibility made my entire body vibrate with excitement. To actually touch a dragon, to feel that legendary connection form between human consciousness and draconic intelligence—it was the dream that kept me pressed against the window every morning, the fantasy that filled my nights with visions of soaring through amber skies on wings of living crystal and lightning.

“But Kael,” Father continued, his voice carrying the gentle weight of experience, “the Academy only accepts two or three new candidates each year. Competition is fierce. Children from all across Aethermoor try for those positions, many with family histories in the Skyguard, formal training in aerial magic, advantages we can’t provide.”

I nodded, understanding but not deterred. Through our window, I could see another patrol beginning their morning exercises—a squadron of advanced trainees working on complex aerial maneuvers under the supervision of a Senior Wing-Commander. Their dragons moved like dancers, each wingbeat precisely calculated, their formations so beautiful they brought tears to my eyes.

“I have to try,” I said simply. “I know it’s a long shot. I know we’re just outer-ring residents with no connections to the military castes. But I have to try, because this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life.”

The afternoon brought my favorite part of the daily routine: equipment maintenance on Platform Seven, where the Skyguard’s secondary depot allowed civilian observation of non-classified activities. I pressed my face against the viewing barrier, watching technicians service the dragons’ flying harnesses with meticulous care.

Each piece of equipment was a masterwork of function and artistry—leather suppled with oils that prevented cracking in extreme temperatures, metal fittings forged from alloys that wouldn’t fatigue under stress, crystal communication arrays that allowed rider and dragon to coordinate with ground control during complex missions. The dragons themselves submitted to the attention with patient dignity, occasionally rumbling with contentment when particularly sensitive spots received careful grooming.

“Excuse me, young observer.”

I turned to find Wing-Captain Meridian herself standing behind me, still wearing her flight suit from the morning patrol. This close, I could see details that distance had hidden—the small scar along her left cheek, the way her dark hair was braided with threads of silver that matched her dragon’s markings, the confidence that seemed to radiate from her like heat from forge-fire.

“I… um… you’re…” I stammered, every practiced introduction fleeing my mind.

“Wing-Captain Meridian,” she supplied with a smile that transformed her stern features into something approachable. “And you’re the boy who watches our morning flights from Westwind Platform. Starfall has noticed you—she’s quite observant for a crystal-drake, and she’s mentioned that someone tracks our formations with unusual attention.”

“Your dragon talked about me?” The possibility seemed as impossible as flying without wings.

“Dragons notice more than most people realize,” Meridian replied, settling beside me at the barrier. “Especially when someone watches with genuine appreciation rather than casual curiosity. She says you follow our maneuvers with understanding, not just excitement.”

Pride swelled in my chest, threatened to lift me from the platform entirely. “I study flight patterns. I know the difference between a Combat Spiral and a Wind-Shear Recovery. I can identify dragon breeds by their wing-configuration and flight characteristics. I’ve memorized every formation in the Skyguard tactical manual.”

Her eyebrows rose with what looked like impressed surprise. “Have you now? And where exactly did you acquire a Skyguard tactical manual?”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “I… may have borrowed one from the public archives. Without exactly asking permission. But I put it back! Eventually!”

Meridian’s laughter carried the musical quality that marked those born to the sky-realm. “Initiative and dedication. Two qualities the Academy values highly.” She studied me with the intensity I’d seen her apply to aerial tactical assessments. “What’s your name, young flight-watcher?”

“Kael Stormwind, Wing-Captain. Twelve years old, resident of Westwind Platform, outer rings.”

“And your aspirations, Kael Stormwind of the outer rings?”

The question I’d dreamed of being asked by someone who actually mattered, someone who could make dreams real. “I want to join the Skyguard, Wing-Captain. I want to bond with a dragon and protect Aethermoor’s airways. I want to be like you—like all of you. I want to fly.”

She nodded slowly, as if my answer confirmed something she’d been considering. “The Academy demonstrations are next month. Have your parents mentioned them?”

“Yes, Wing-Captain. They said I could try, even though the chances are small.”

“Small, perhaps, but not impossible. Not for someone who studies tactical manuals without authorization and can identify dragon breeds by wing-configuration.” She stood, smoothing her flight suit with practiced motions. “Tell me, Kael—when you watch us fly, what do you see?”

I thought carefully, wanting to give her an answer worthy of the question. “I see perfect harmony between rider and dragon. I see protection made beautiful, duty transformed into art. I see people who found their calling in the sky and made it their whole world. And I see…” I paused, searching for words to capture the feeling that overwhelmed me every morning. “I see home. The place where I belong, even though I’ve never been there.”

Wing-Captain Meridian smiled, and this time the expression held something deeper than mere approval. “That, young Kael, sounds remarkably like dragon resonance to me.”

As she walked away, her boots clicking against the crystal platform with the confidence of someone who belonged in the sky, I turned back to the maintenance area where Starfall was receiving attention from the technicians. The crystal-drake’s multifaceted eyes found mine through the barrier, and for just a moment—just the briefest instant—I felt something pass between us. A whisper of connection, a suggestion of shared consciousness, the faintest echo of what it might feel like to soar through amber skies on wings that caught starlight.

The sensation lasted only seconds, but it left me breathless with possibility.

One month. One chance to prove that a boy from the outer rings could earn his place among the elite. One opportunity to transform a lifetime of watching and dreaming into the reality of wind and wings and the endless sky that called to something deep in my soul.

I pressed my hand against the barrier, and somewhere in the depths of my chest, I felt the first stirring of wings I didn’t yet possess, reaching toward a future that hung like a distant star in the vast expanse of possibility.

The Skyguard flew because they had to—because Aethermoor needed protection, because duty demanded their service, because they were the shield that stood between their people and the dangers that lurked in the spaces between floating islands.

But I would fly for a different reason, if they would let me. I would fly for the pure joy of it, for the ecstasy of partnership with a creature of living crystal and lightning, for the privilege of being part of something larger and more beautiful than anything earthbound existence could offer.

Above us, the evening patrol was returning, their dragons’ wings catching the last light of day as they circled toward the Aerie. Soon, those same dragons would rest in crystal caves that hummed with contentment, while their riders gathered in halls where stories of the sky were told and retold until they became legend.

One month from now, if fortune and dragon resonance favored me, I might be among them—no longer watching from behind barriers, but living the dream that had consumed every dawn since I’d first seen the Skyguard take flight.

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

I couldn’t wait.