Chapter Text
I witnessed much when I was taken into Helheim’s gate, onto the island of the dragons. Too much of it, I can’t yet write down for my own sake. I fear it’s too fresh on my mind to recount without another episode. But ever since I got back, I’ve been having… dreams. Visions? I keep seeing that terrible, terrible dragon from the island, armies of other vikings from a tribe that doesn’t exist in any of our books. But they all bore a purple flag with a dragon that looks just like the one in the nest. Like the people that attacked your [REDCATED], [REDACTED].
Do they want war? Why do they use that horrible beast as their symbol? Are they coming here? [REDACTED], when they attacked your [REDACTED], you didn't tell me they might be a threat to Arus. So much doesn’t make sense. But the thing that most confuses me, is another recurring dream that disrupts those previous visions. One of a black and white dragon with red wings and yellow eyes. I think I know what it may be, if the stories you told me are true.
While I’ve never seen this dragon in real life,
heit looks like the one that had been terrorizing the village ever since I’ve returned. If they're supposed to be our protectors, why are they acting as a weapon against us?
[REDCATED], I don't know if I am the right person to do this.
– Translated page from The Riders of Arus, A Collection of Letters by the Riders of Arus, Chapter One published by Shiro Kirogane
Welcome, to Arus.
It’s twelve days north of hopeless and a few degrees south of freezing to death. It’s located solidly on the Meridian of Misery, in a small corner of the world hidden away by a mass of fog no one but the bravest of Viking’s dared to sail.
Unfortunately, those that lived on Arus didn’t quite have a choice in the matter.
The ocean roared, cold and unforgiving as it crashed into the steep cliffs of Arus. Bonfires burned, torches flickered in the wind. Buildings, new and few old, stood tall and sturdy against the coming storm.
Thunder cracked in the distance and heavy footsteps came stomping down the stairs. Urgent and moving with purpose.
Lance blinked awake, his eyes adjusting to the low light of the room. He caught just a glimpse of a big body opening the front door and slamming it shut. The lanterns rattled in response, a spear falling to the floor from the force of the slam.
Still half asleep, Lance sluggishly tossed the covers off and tugged his shoes on. Fixing his faded blue tunic, he adjusted the hood and prepared to step into the chill of the night.
He opened the door, forcing his eyes to stay open–
A flying mass of red scales, bright markings and fur barreled past, breathing a scorching plume of fire at the house across from Lance’s own. Lance, understandably, let out a yell in surprise.
The creature swiveled its head to Lance, and if he had time, he would’ve spoken every curse known in his vocabulary. Of course, the creature had other plans, and unhinged its jaw– green sulfur hissed, low and threatening– and Lance slammed the door shut just in time to lock it before throwing himself to the ground.
The heat was unbearable and smoke was already making its way into the room. The onslaught stopped after a long, tense, blistering moment, then Lance heard hefting wings flying toward its next victim. Only then, did he let himself stand, albeit shakily.
See. While other islands had giant wolves and massive, bucking horses… Arus had:
Lance breathed, adrenaline coursing through his veins excitedly as his body shook with fear and anticipation. A smile crept up his lips and he whispered, “Dragons.”
—
Lance ran through the burning village, coughing dryly as he fought his way through the masses to Uncle Coran’s Armory.
Vikings, pale and dark, big and bigger, ran past with battle-axes in hand, swords, and nets. Each one shouting and jeering at him to get back inside as he sprinted towards the armory, trying his best not to stumble over his legs too long for his body.
One knocked him over, and Lance bit his tongue as he took the fall. “Shit– seriously?” He called to the Viking as they ran past without so much as a glance. Lance wasn’t stuck on his ass for long, because before he knew it, he was lifted right back up by his armpits and pushed straight into a run.
“Your dad is so going to kill you, dude!” Hunk said, running side by side with him. The armory was just across the plaza. “Are you really that eager to get yelled at in front of the whole village again?”
“Thanks for the reminder, Buddy,” Lance rolled his eyes, flushing at the memory while they ran. It wasn’t his fault that Balmera decided to target him at the last raid!
Narrowly dodging another plume of flame from a dragon Lance couldn't make out before an axe found its head. Right on each other's heels, they tripped right into Coran’s Armory.
“About time, boy!” Coran said, immediately handing him a sword to sharpen as Lance hopped the desk to get behind the counter. “I was startin’ to think you’d been carried off.”
“Thanks, Coran,” Lance said, frowning at the sword. “I knew I was popular with the ladies, but it’s nice to know you're confident in my skills with the fire-breathing lizards, too.”
Hunk snorted, wasting no time in getting to work on repairing the crowd of Viking’s weapons. “Lance almost got turned into roasted dragon breakfast as soon as he stepped out of the door.”
Lance hummed considerately, jabbing Hunk in the side and hefting the sword onto the speeding rock to sharpen, sparks flying into the air as he forced it down. “Anyway, I was thinking,” Lance ventured, eyes flitting from the sword in his hand to Coran’s ginger hair. “Maybe I could… I don’t know… promote to dragon killing today?”
Coran didn’t spare him a glance as he barked a laugh. Lance cringed as a Balmera spat a giant lump of bright teal lava, sending it hurling into the building just across from the armory. The ground shook. When Coran finally caught his breath, he turned to Lance. “Oh, my boy, you really do have a sense of humor. Even if your father doesn’t appreciate it. Promote to dragon killing,” He snorted. “Why don’t I go ask your father to lend me his favorite axe, eh?”
Hunk shot him a glance, his brows furrowed in pity.
Lance bit his lip, sweat already beginning to trickle uncomfortably down his spine from the scalding heat. Why couldn’t they have had ice-breathing dragons instead?
“Hah, well, funny thing,” Lance tried again nervously, eyes glancing at the sword in his hand. Man, how long did this thing take to sharpen? “I wasn’t really joking–”
“Coran!”
Lance was interrupted by a short figure bounding into the armory, bursting through the backdoor. Pidge (Katie, but no one called her that) hauled a giant crossbow with a net in the bundle of the catapult.
“I finally finished the catapult!” She grinned manicly. “I was thinking of testing it out tonight, what with the whole dragon’s attacking the village again or whatever– or maybe we can use it for dragon training–!”
A sharp, whining whistle rang in the air. Lance and every other viking turned to the noise as someone called, “Verndari!”
“Get down!”
Shields went over heads in protocol of the most feared dragon on Arus. A giant boom resounded in the distance, and Lance could see one of their watch towers go down in a blue, fiery mass, and the heat seemed to double.
The Verndari was a special type of dragon, even worse than the Monstrous Robeast. No one has ever seen it in person. It came from the ocean, blending in with the waves and the mask of darkness. The only thing they knew was that it never missed.
Pidge eagerly ran to the desk where Vikings were still piling dull weapons and such in need of fixing impatiently, but even their heads were still turned.
Maybe Lance should try thinking before doing something sometime. Or, well, usually he did. Usually. But maybe the poorly concealed hurt of so easily being overtaken by Pidge quickly erased any memory of the lectures his father gave him, and, well, he didn’t think.
The sword Lance had been staring at dumbly because he’d forgotten to take it off the sharpener, had a giant indent as the metal threatened to snap and clatter to the ground was thrown to the side in seconds. The giant catapult was in his hands, and suddenly, he was rolling it outside, out the backdoor, past raging fires, giant dragons, furious Vikings, and up, up, up the hills and cliffs. He could faintly hear Pidge yelling his name, and he could perfectly imagine Hunk being the one to hold her back.
Lance couldn't help but linger past the blur of black hair and slightly tanned skin as he rushed across the burning grass, almost growling just as ravenously as the dragon he fought. He slashed his sword in front of a massive Olkari and its sharp teeth. Shouting at the child behind him to get inside.
Lance tripped at the sight.
Keith Kogane. Practically the star of their village, was one of the only Viking teens their age that continuously broke the rules and ran out to fight during nearly every attack. And here he was, defending a child and trying to fight a seemingly full grown Olkari. But Lance realized just as soon as Keith that he couldn't protect him and the kid at the same time.
Lance wasted no time before abandoning the catapult and running toward the roaring Olkari and Keith.
“What the– Lance! What are you doing?!” Keith growled, hitting the Olkari in one of its many horns and spikes. “You're not supposed to–”
“Be out here. I know!” Lance shot back before diving and scooping the little sobbing girl into his arms. “Hey, sweetheart,” Lance said, his tone immediately taking a softer note. “Don't you worry. We're gonna get you to Mom, alright?”
The girl continued to sob, latching onto Lance's tunic as her snot and tears stained the collar.
“Hey. Come on,” Lance nudged her head, urging her to look at him.
“Lance.” Keith said in warning, pushing them back as he called for help.
“Shut it, Mullet.” Lance glared, failing to stamp down his irritation. “Hey, hey. Look at me, baby girl. I'm going to need you to tell me which clan you're from, so I know what to tell the nice old lady in the Dining Hall. Mom can get you after this is all done.”
“I've been trying to ask her this whole time, she's not going to–”
“W-warband,” She choked out, screaming when the Olkari got too close.
“The Bjorn Warband?” Lance said, patting her back soothingly as he stuck his tongue out at Keith. “That's great, sweetheart. You're so brave. We'll get you there “
Their village was large, made up of various viking clans who sailed here to Arus and made it their home over the years.
Keith gave him a deadpanned expression, but when Lance turned to look for a safe route to the Dining Hall– That's where any kids, lost or not, were taken during fights. Easily barricaded and defendable– Keith’s eyes softened.
“Hey!”
Keith and Lance both startled, Keith just barely dodging a slash from the Olkari's razor sharp tail. They turned to find an older Viking with short cropped black hair and– Holy fucking– “Shit! Shiro!” Lance gaped, slapping his free hand over his mouth in embarrassment.
Shiro ignored him, and Lance tried not to feel too hurt. They were in the middle of a battle, after all.
“Keith, go with them!” Shiro ordered, commanding and firm as he fought the dragon before them. “Keep them safe until they get to the dining hall.”
Keith hesitated only for a moment before coming to the conclusion that Shiro could protect himself just fine. Lance could not.
“Come on,” Keith grabbed his wrist, pulling him alone through the blazing chaos of screaming Vikings and bloodied dragons. Lance shushed the girl in his arms, asking her questions to keep her mind off the battle going on around them.
"What's your name, love?" Lance panted as they ran. His arms were aching now, but they were so close now.
"E-Emily," She hiccuped, squeezing her arms tighter around Lance's neck as she screamed when an Unilu landed nearby. A woman with nearly white hair swung her axe around, drawing its attention away. "I'm Em-Emily!" She sobbed.
"Well, that just so happens to be my favorite name, Emily," Lance smile wobbled, trying his best to hide his wincing even though she couldn't see it. "What's your favorite flower, Emily?" But all she could do now was cry and sob against his neck for the next minute that it took to get to the dining hall. Finally, after setting the girl down from his aching arms, he patted her blond head before passing her over to one of the senior Viking’s, an old lady called Bodil.
Keith watched as the girl gave Lance a hug, sniffling and wiping her tears now that she knew she was safe. She looked up with big, beautiful gray eyes and said, "My f-favorite flower's are snowdrops," She hiccupped.
Lance cooed, bending down to meet her eyes properly. "And why's that, Emily?"
"B-because they grow, uhm, even during the winter time," She replied, nodding as if to be sure with herself.
"Well, I think those might just be my favorite flower's now too, Emily," Lance grinned, then ushered her off inside. Emily took Bodil's hand and they began walking toward the table filled to the brim with children. "Bye bye!" She called, her eyes red-rimmed.
"Bye, sweet girl," Lance waved, his smile more genuine this time.
They stood there for a moment silently after the giant door closed.
Keith glanced at Lance. “So. Uh, why are you out here?”
Lance raised a brow, crossing his arms before leaning lowly to look Keith in the eyes accusingly. “Wouldn't you like to know, Samurai?”
Keith scoffed, opening his mouth to retort when a sharp whistle echoed into the night.
Lance gasped, eyes immediately shooting up toward the sky.
“I gotta go,” Lance rushed out, booking it down the path where he left the (hopefully still intact) catapult.
“Wait. Lance, where are you going?!” Keith called, beginning to jog after him when an Unilu landed right in front of them. Lance nearly tripped over himself coming to a halt with a nervous smile.
“Uh, hey, precious,” Lance said, slowly backing toward Keith. “Come here often?”
The Unilu, decidedly not liking his poor attempt at a pick-up line, roared before rearing back. A familiar hiss and green smoke began to fall from its mouth.
“You know. A no would have sufficed,” Lance scoffed before screaming as Keith shoved him aside and took on the Unilu, using the butt of his sword to jab it harshly in the neck. The dragon choked, sufficiently losing the beginning of fire breath.
Lance blinked before sprinting right past, calling a quick thanks to Keith. “I owe you one!”
“Lance!” Keith shouted. “Don’t fucking die!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it!”
The sky was a deep, dark blue. Stars twinkled down at Lance as the cold air kissed his skin, far from the fighting.
Did he feel guilty for leaving Keith to battle an Unilu by himself? A tad. But he knew Keith could handle it. Everyone in the village and their mothers knew it. The guy killed dragons all the time, didn’t he?
With that in mind and the familiar, comforting feeling of jealousy and irritation back in his stomach, Lance got back to work. “C’mon,” he murmured to himself. Searching the mass of blue for any sign of a dragon. “Give me something, universe. Come on…”
There!
Lance shoved his eye into the scope of the weapon, his tongue sticking out as he followed the figure.
Now, Lance’s eyesight was amazing. Give him a crossbow and suddenly you had a reason to be afraid of being on the other end of his arrow. At least that was something he could do right– but of course, Viking’s were expected to wield heavy maces and giant axes. Not sleek, stealthy arrows. Well, what Lance was trying to get at was, when he was following the dragon overhead, it wasn’t entirely based on his eyesight and skill. No.
Something in his chest was pulling, tugging him along to follow through the scope easily without challenge. And when his fingers found the trigger, Lance choked at the sudden sense of wrong in his body.
The dragon overhead roared, likely gearing up to strike, and Lance knocked himself out of his stupor, praying his momentary hesitation didn’t just ruin all of his chances. The invention seemed simple enough. Just crank it back, aim, then pull here–
A shockwave of pushback sent him sprawling to the ground, careening over himself as he landed in a heap of long limbs. The wind whistled, whipping as the net launched into the sky.
Lance’s eyes adjusted seconds before the dragon roared, her (her?) form plummeting like a shooting star to the forest below.
“Holy…” Lance whispered in disbelief, then he launched from the ground with a whoop! “I hit it! Oh my gods, I really actually hit it. Did anybody see that?”
A low growl rumbled behind him, and Lance slowly turned, mentally compiling a list of the people he wanted on his will. Hunk, Pidge… Keith? Nope. Scratch that. Hunk and Pidge.
The catapult was crushed beneath large, wicked talons like it was nothing. Lance gulped, smiling nervously at the beast. “Hah… fancy seeing you here…”
The hiss of sulfur and fire was all Lance needed to turn right around. His scream echoed throughout the island as Lance sprinted down the hill from the Monstrous RoBeast.
“Holy CROW–” Lance’s chest threatened to burst, his long legs useful for once in his life as the RoBeast geared up its long, red neck to hurl blazes down Lance’s back.
The red blur on the battlefield halted, only momentarily, as it looked in the direction of the yells.
“Lance?” Keith said, furrowing his brows.
Keith grunted as a hulking mass barreled past him in Lance’s direction.
“Chief Alfor is going to kill Lance if that RoBeast doesn’t do it first,” Hunk winced, carrying a bucket of water to the armory. A Balmera may or may not have set part of it on fire. “Or Pidge,” He added, remembering Pidge’s shriek when her catapult and Lance coincidentally went missing at the same time.
Lance sped past a corner, skidding on the ground before catching his footing, narrowly avoiding the blast of scalding fire. Eyes catching on the closest leverage of shelter. Slamming his back into a wooden pole. Just when the word wooden registered in his mind as he peeked behind him to reassure himself that he lost the dragon, a warm rumble just by his ear sent goosebumps down his spine.
“Lance!” A gruff voice warned, just as Chief Alfor slammed into the head of the Monstrous Robeast with his body. Lance only stuck around to see the man throw hooks and pummels into the dragon’s snout, dodging plumes of blazing fire and tiring the thing out before hands wrapped around Lance’s waist and began to pull him away.
“Woah!” Lance startled, his heart jumping at the thought that maybe he really was going to be kidnapped and taken away to a dragon island and be fed to dragon babies and oh gods, he was going to end up just like Her–
And he maybe slightly preferred that option when he looked up and met Keith’s dark eyes. He stopped struggling for a moment as his heart made its way up his throat and his face was warming up just fine without the whole being hunted by a giant dragon thing.
“You okay?” Keith asked, still pulling him away from the fight. “You almost died back there. Like I specifically asked you not to do.”
“Uh, yeah,” Lance said, forcing himself to gulp down his obscene thoughts and push his bravado back out as armor. “I noticed.”
He wormed out of his grip, stamping down the disappointment of the loss of contact around his waist. Lance pretended to dust off his ashy-blue tunic and dirty leather armor straps.
“What’re you doing here, anyway?”
“Fighting… dragons?” Keith said, phrasing it like a question. His hair was pulled back into a short ponytail as he crossed his wrapped arms. “Saving you? Should I be doing something else?”
Lance blinked, opening his mouth to retort and completely deny the saving part, when the pole creaked harshly, a last battle cry before it tumbled to the ground with a giant boom that shook the island.
Wincing, Lance turned to find the RoBeast flying away, the battle suddenly over as soon as it began. Fires crackled everywhere without the same intensity as before as the dragons picked themselves up, carrying what they came for: livestock, and disappeared into the distance.
Chief Alfor stood in the center of the mass of Vikings, watching with a glare as the dragons left. Lance tensed as he turned, blue eyes searching for something. Someone.
Lance bit down a yelp, hiding behind Keith as his eyes glanced his way.
“What are you doing?” Keith asked, smart enough to whisper and not look behind him where Lance was ducked.
“Shh!”
Keith hummed, swallowing.
After a moment, Alfor’s eyes swept past them and to his left.
“Uhm…” Keith said. “He’s not looking, if that’s what you’re waiting for, but why exactly are you hiding from your–”
Lance resisted the urge to plant a giant, fat kiss or big punch to the face on the sweaty boy and took the chance for what it was, and high-tailed it through the crowd of Viking’s to his hopefully still intact home.
Keith followed him with his eyes as he disappeared behind one of the burning houses and into the cold morning, the sky turning hues of oranges and cool blues.
“Dad.” Keith finished, ignoring the growing pit of disappointment and confusion in his gut.
—
Lance was this close to throwing his sketchbook into the nearest river, eating it, and then spitting it back out.
It was nearly afternoon, his stomach was growling, his head hurt, his body ached, and he’d been searching for the dragon he’d shot down for hours. He was sketching every possible place it could’ve landed on his makeshift map, and so far, nothing.
“Alright, Lance.” He said, shoving his sketchbook inside his satchel with frustration. “You lost the dragon. You lost it! The gods hate you and you lost a whole. Entire. Dragon.”
Lance scowled, kicking a stone. Unfortunately, he overestimated, and slipped, falling on his ass. Hard.
Biting his lip, he growled and nearly pulled his hair out.
“This is stupid. Maybe I imagined it,” Lance muttered, thinking bitterly of the strange pull in his chest at the sight of it in the night. “Stupid.”
He picked himself up with a sigh, dusting his leather pants off and pulling his coat closer around himself, the fur lining of the hood giving him some semblance of warmth in the face of the oncoming winter. Once he’d made it home, he made sure to put it on now that he wasn’t in danger of being set on fire.
Lance climbed over a giant rock, overlooking the forest before his eyes caught on something big and blue below him. Wait.
He gasped, his heart launching into his throat as he scrambled down from the rocks. The cool stone froze his fingertips as he forced his breathing to steady, overly aware of every noise he made as he sat and waited for imminent doom.
After a solid ten seconds, nothing happened, and Lance should really get his curiosity under control. That was Pidge’s thing.
Slowly, Lance crept up, cringing at every little noise until his eyes landed on the dragon below. The longer he stared and admired, the closer he got until he was just a couple of feet from its body.
"I did this," Lance felt a smile creep on his face. This, oh this fixed everything.
The air whooshed in his ears like the world itself had released a breath it’d been holding. Though Lance had finally brought down a dragon, this wasn’t like any dragon Lance had ever seen.
It's whole body was fluffy with blue fur that seemed to shift to white whenever it moved, unlike any dragon Lance could recall. It's red horns were long and thing, curling up and close to its head. It's overall stature reminded him of a cat of prey, from its snout, lithe and thin body, long tail and all the way down to its bright yellow eyes that were... oh. They were narrowed into slits. But all Lance could think was...
“You’re beautiful,” Lance breathed like a secret, before biting his tongue. “And you are also very much awake.”
And for the first time, Lance’s eyes traced the expanse of its wings. They definitely weren’t the largest of the dragons he’s seen, but they were still pretty damn big. And they were astonishing and folded and resting at a stiff and awkward angle and– Oh.
Lance had done that.
This time, when Lance met the dragons eyes again, they looked different. They were beautiful, but they were afraid. Lance could see his reflection in its large eyes. He saw his hands palming the dagger without thinking. And while he might’ve had the upper hand here, it took him not a moment longer to realize that he, too, looked scared.
“I did this,” Lance whispered, less like a secret and more like a shameful admission, now. The sound of his dagger sheathing itself reached his ears.
Nearly stumbling back and hitting his head against the rock, Lance gulped back a wave of vomit. Lance felt claustrophobic just looking at the poor thing, and now, he didn’t know how in the world he thought he could ever kill such a marvelous beast.
Lance turned around and took a few steps before stopping.
His mind and common sense told him to keep walking and save himself the trouble, but every other fiber of his being screamed in outrage at the mere thought.
And really, really, really, Lance should start to think before acting.
It took less than a second for Lance to whip right back around and swiftly pluck the dagger from its holster on his thigh and fall to his knees beside the dragon. He could hear its breathing quicken, could feel the cold, calculating trail of ice it left on Lance’s body, the flexing paws with razor-sharp talons. And still, Lance continued to cut away at the net constricting it.
He marveled at the freedom in his chest when the last piece of rope snapped, but only for a second. Next thing Lance knew, she got was on her paws in a flash, whipping to face Lance before opening her giant jaw to probably eat him for brunch and–
Lance tripped, hitting his back on the rock from before. The shock of cold seeping through his coat, and that’s when Lance also registered the fact that it was snowing. Now, this wouldn’t be such a shocker if it weren’t for the fact that Arus wasn’t supposed to be expecting snow for at least another month.
But at that moment, snow was falling from the gray sky, covering the surrounding trees in the thinnest coat of white, the ground collecting the rest.
The dragon growled, circling Lance with a look in her yellow eyes that he couldn’t decipher. Her tail lashed behind her, making indents in the ground, and her wings fluffed up, making her seem larger than she was. The snow falling softly on her thin coat made her shimmer in the dapples of light making it through the clouds and trees above.
Lance’s heart was in his throat, but he couldn’t help but be drawn in by the beast. He was terrified, don’t get him wrong. But delighted, excited almost. Goosebumps raised along his arms, and he relished in it.
And to think, Lance had wanted to kill this creature.
No. That was a lie, and every atom in Lance’s being knew it. Lance wanted to want to kill the dragon before him, and every dragon he came across. But the truth was, with each pool of blood spilled from any dragon made him want to drown in his own bile. Lance couldn’t help it, truly. He felt bad if Pidge killed a dragonfly, for the gods sake.
That was dangerous. He was dangerous– for all the wrong reasons. Feeling this way for vicious creatures like these could put everyone around him at risk. It already had.
And finally admitting that to himself lodged something in his throat, made him heavier than lighter. For a fleeting moment, Lance didn’t mind the inevitable teeth that would rip into him.
But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it was ripped away with a growl in front of him. Lance’s eyes found the dragon again and furrowed his brows at the way her pupils seemed to dilate.
“You’re… kind of strange, ya’know?” Lance said quietly, unsure and afraid that any sudden noises might make her pounce, but of course, when Lance McClain was nervous, he talked. A lot. “Any other dragon would’ve killed me by now.”
The dragon cocked her head, ears twitching: listening. Lance went on, drinking in the trickling courage the action offered.
“And not that I’m complaining, but, I’m just wondering.” Unable to keep himself from fidgeting, he grasped at the hem of his coat as the dragon finally decided she’d had enough of looming over him and instead began to circle, circle, circle. Like she was picking him apart, until seemingly having enough and stopping in front of him. Oh, gods above, she was at least double his height. She had to lower her head in order to look him in the eyes.
Lance shifted uncomfortably, feeling like her eyes were boring into his very being and easily slipping past any mental barriers he might’ve had. Which was totally silly and way out there, she was a dragon, what was Lance thinking–
The dragon reared back and roared.
The sound was shrill, almost. Powerful, like a tsunami threatening to crash and drown anything that dared to stand before it. Yet, here was Lance, standing before it, and even though his head was screaming at him to run in the other direction, his feet stayed planted on the ground, barring the brunt of the hot air and saliva that flew at him and stuck to his face.
Birds flew from the trees with haste, cawing. The leaves rustled, and his ears rang. Yet, Lance continued to stand until the dragon closed its jaw and spared him from a life led with deaf ears.
They locked eyes again, and like the dragon was commanding him to speak, she plucked the single word chanting in his head with ease.
“Beautiful.” Lance breathed, then fumbled to fix his hair, looking back up at her with a giant smile.
The forest was quiet for a moment. A kind of quiet that warned of a predator nearby. The forest continued to wait with bated breath, as if it were excited to see whether Lance was about to get eaten or not.
The dragon’s eyes seemed to soften like ice melting, and suddenly, Lance’s right leg began to ache. Then itch, and Lance cried out when every nerve screamed at him that his leg was on fire.
“Fuck!” Lance dropped to the ground in seconds, attempting to tear away at his boot. Untying the lace that kept the boots on tight, he kicked the boot off and shoved up his pants. He was sweating now, and the pain immediately dulled to a sore ache when he found nothing but irritated skin as he itched at it. Carefully, he lay it in the snow, breathing out a sigh of relief when it cooled the blazing heat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He opened them a moment later when he realized maybe closing your eyes around an undocumented dragon– no, that wasn’t right. He knew what she was; a Verndari. The only one they knew of, anyway. Still, definitely wasn’t the smartest move– but he blinked when he found nothing.
Lance looked all around him, squinting his eyes and glaring in the distance, trying to find the dragon disguised in the snow or behind a boulder. But he came up empty, even after walking around when his leg wasn’t begging to be chopped off.
“Huh.” Lance sucked at his teeth, rubbing his still aching calf. “I barely even opened my mouth and she left. I think that’s a new record.” Pouting slightly, he opted to not tell Pidge and Hunk when he got back to the village. He did not need his friend’s spiraling the interaction into what it wasn’t and say he managed to annoy a Verndari in a matter of minutes.
(Hunk would be devastated, demanding that Lance give him every detail so that he could add it to his card collection and finally add a visual to his Verndari card. Lance chose peace and sleep instead.)
When he finally made it back home, he was beyond exhausted. While the encounter had been magnificent, it had also run Lance on an adrenaline high, and he was finally sobering down from it.
I am taking the longest, fattest nap known to Viking, Lance promised himself as he turned the knob and opened the door to his house. The sky was beginning to turn a pretty pink, melting into purples and blues as the sun faded on the horizon.
He was met with the sight of his father, Chief Alfor, throwing his giant bag of supplies over his shoulder with a grunt. Wait. Supplies?
When Alfor’s eyes landed on Lance, he prayed to every god that a black hole would appear beneath his feet and suck him up. But, of course, when that inevitably didn’t happen, he gave his father a nervous smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Uhh, hey, dad.” Lance waved awkwardly. A second passed, and Alfor sighed in response. Lance gripped the straps of his satchel as Alfor came forward, heavy steps thumping against the wooden floor. He could swear that the room got colder as he set a hand on Lance’s shoulder.
“Lance.”
Lance gulped. “Father.”
Alfor’s icy eyes seemed to crack, his tense posture relaxing slightly, and Lance allowed himself to hope he would get more than–
His father opened his mouth, and Lance leaned forward almost eagerly for once. Alfor’s brown skin creased at his brow like it was a physical struggle to say more than… more than…
“Take care, Son.”
The hand slipping from Lance’s shoulder was like salt to an open wound as he slipped past him and closed the door.
Lance stood there for a minute, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from dropping the invisible weight his father had left him with for a parting gift. Well. More like what his father had added on to the weight. It’s always been there.
The moon was high by the time Lance got to bed, his desk littered with sketches of the dragon in the woods and its majestic wings and swirly patterns. Yellow eyes followed Lance into his dreams, his right calf and upper thigh wrapped and covered in a rash cream.
After the third time of being woken by yellow eyes and a blue dragon in the depths of the freezing ocean in one night, Lance lit his lantern and stumbled into his seat. He ripped out a few pages from his larger journals and began to draw. For a couple hours, he retraced all that he remembered of the Verndari, until finally, sleep begged to take him.
Almost nothing was known about the Verndari. What limited knowledge they had on it was from a special Viking who was captured by dragons when he was only seventeen. He’d made it back nearly two years later in an old ship that bore a symbol none of them recognized with right arm missing from the elbow down. Keith’s adoptive brother, Shiro Kirogane.
And with him, came the Verndari– no one blamed him directly of course. But, at least for Lance, it was obvious. The Verndari first appeared the day after Shiro had returned in a raid.
The man had documented his knowledge of the beasts he’d encountered in the Dragon Manual. A giant book passed down from generation to generation, describing everything they knew about every dragon they knew of, including ones Shiro had discovered during his time… away. Every way to recognize a dragon and each and every way to take one down. But Lance wasn’t particularly interested in that part, no.
If Shiro had added the dragons he’d discovered to the Manual, That had to mean the Verndari was in there somewhere, right?
Lance wanted to find the Verndari again. Was he totally pushing his luck by intentionally searching for it after it had let him go once? Definitely. But something in his chest was pulling him, urging him to find the dragon again.
What exactly was he hoping to get out of this? Well, details were details, and Lance liked to follow his heart lately.
But the first step in this plan (if you could call it that) was to find out everything he could about the Verndari. And to do that, he needed to get his hands on that manual.
The only problem was that only dragon fighters and cadets were allowed to read its contents. And Lance was neither of those.
However, lucky for him, dragon fighting classes were beginning next week for any young Vikings interested in learning to take down a dragon.
Sub-problem: Lance was banned from ever taking them.
He was banned from a lot of things.
And frankly, he was tired of being treated like he needed to be shoved into a bubble and kept safe from anything too sharp that might pop it.
Lance blew the lantern beside his bed out and pulled the scratchy blue blanket over him, curling up on his left side, using his hands as cushioning for his head.
Although Lance was banned from taking the classes, his father was also away on another three-month-long expedition in search of the Dragon’s Nest; the island the dragons had taken Shiro to when he was captured. Supposedly, the dragons that attacked Arus so frequently, called the island home.
Chief Alfor’s plan? Find the Nest, and burn it to the ground.
Lance’s plan?
Completely disregard the rules his father had placed for his safety and get his hands on that manual... and perhaps befriend the very creature his father sought to destroy.