A dragon was a privilege. Something earned through dedication and hard work. You’d been training your entire life for this, but your stomach still twisted itself into knots. You might very well be chosen by a dragon, and then taken into whatever riot said dragon belonged to. Or you might be scorched on the spot, reduced to ash that would make a very acceptable sustenance for the plants.

You walk silently through the woods, clutching your dagger tighter and tighter with every step, every snap of a branch in the distance. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment you would see if all of your good marks and sleepless nights were worth it-

‘You.’

A voice thunders suddenly. But not out loud. It’s… in your head. The gruff tone bounces around your skull for a moment, every muscle in your body going taut.

‘Let me look at you.’ it says.

You obey, tilting your head back, startling when you see the massive dragon looming over you, bigger than a house, with scales as black as night. It watches you intently, eyes narrowed like it’s studying your very soul.

You can only stare back, heart in your throat as he lowers his head, hot breath ruffling your hair as he breathes in your scent.

“That one?” Someone shouts. You jump, gaze snapping towards the intrusion.

Four men stand there, their expressions ranging from unamused to intrigued to pure disbelief. The first one, sporting some sort of Mohawk, crosses his arms over his chest. The second, a man with rich brown skin and dark eyes, simply watches, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The third, an older man with facial hair and a frown, looks as if he might be cataloguing every inch of you. The last man… You can’t make out anything about the way he’s looking at you, his face covered by a mask that looks as if it’s fashioned to resemble a human skull.

“Really? Out of all these brilliant, talented riders, you want that one?” The first man scoffs, his voice thick with a Scottish accent.