1217-11-02
Imari Solan:
"There's an old saying," the voice said. "Do you believe dragons are our equals? Are they beneath us? Or are they divine? Some follow the Lion. Others believe only in themselves—that they are kings."
The sun beat down on us as we trained in the sand, but we barely noticed.
We are the Queen's Nezu. Guardians of Sha'tar. Defenders of peace. Protectors of Tamara—though, in truth, she doesn't need protecting.
I was still new to the Nezu, but they welcomed me like I belonged. I never understood why they chose me out of the hundreds who applied. What made me different?
Maybe it didn't matter. I could help the people I loved. That was enough.
We continued our drills, pushing through the blistering heat. The sand cut into my fingers like shards of glass.
"What do you believe?" the general shouted to the group.
"That dragons are our equals!" we roared back.
A group of maybe ten of us—young adults, all around my age—continued our pushups, up and down, over and over in a monotonous rhythm. The sand beneath us was hot, the air dry, our muscles screaming with each movement.
"We've been given gifts from dragons—the ability to fly like them, to soar like them."
I'm exhausted. I was sweaty. I finally caught a glimpse of the man behind the voice. The infamous general. The ward of Queen Tamara herself.
He wore deep obsidian armor etched with faint gold markings—lines like ancient ruins. His face was all sharp angles and strict lines. High cheekbones, a tightly cropped beard. One of his eyes was pitch black. The other—piercing golden-red, said to be burned by blight and replaced with magic by Tamara herself.
His presence was colder than even the Queen's fire. If she was the flame, he was the shadow it cast.
They called him Mercury.
But to the rest of us, he was the Serpent of Sha'tar.
"My name," he shouted, voice cutting through the training yard, "is Sahir Mah'tem."
"And for the rest of your lives—you belong to me."
The fatigue was setting in. My arms shook. My breath came in sharp gasps. Then, finally, a small mercy—he waved a finger in a loose "U" motion. We stopped. We were allowed to breathe again.
I stood to attention, saluted him, and the others followed in sync behind me.
"Now that you're Nezu," he said, pacing slowly, "you're ready to learn the truth. The power Queen Tamara discovered."
A rattling sound echoed through the yard. A low, bone-deep hum. His armor began to shift and move—though he remained perfectly still.
Then, a crash.
The pieces of his armor blasted outward in every direction like shards of metal and smoke.
As the dust settled and my eyes adjusted—I saw them.
Wings.
Wings protruded from his back—two massive, dragon-like wings, the same deep obsidian black as his hair. They looked powerful, ancient, alive.
He rose into the air with effortless grace. He hovered above us like a dragon descending from the clouds.
"My goal," he yelled, "is to give you wings."
He stretched out his arms wide.
"Now that you've seen this, your only choice is to become one of the Queen's Nezu—sworn to secrecy… or die a painful death."
Whispers broke out around me. Fear. Doubt. Panic. But I couldn't stop staring at him, at the wings, at the possibility. And then, a smile tugged at my lips.
"I want to be a Nezu!" I shouted, stepping forward.
He turned to me, a slow, sharp smile forming. "Good. Once you earn your wings, your real training begins."
He descended like an angel of war, landing with a heavy thud. As his feet hit the sand, his wings began to shift—folding, curling, shrinking until they settled against his back. They didn't vanish, but changed—becoming more like a mark than a presence, like tattoos inked into his skin.
They were always there. Just hidden beneath his armor and leather.
I couldn't help but wonder—how did it work? Did they have blood flowing through them? Did the wings inflate and deflate like lungs or veins? Were they flesh or something more?
I'd seen dragons before. Hundreds of them. But this… this was new.
I never knew that those who allied with dragons could become like them.
"This is what you're working toward. But getting wings is just the beginning."
The wind hadn't even settled from his landing when the general's voice cut through the silence.
"Now you've seen it," Sahir said, folding his wings back into his body. They seemed to sink into his back like they were never there, just part of him. "This is what you're working toward. But getting wings is just the beginning."
We stood in a rough circle around him, sweat on our brows, our arms still shaking from training. The sand stuck to our skin. No one spoke. We just stared at him.
"Over the next months you will get your wings. You'll train your mind, not just your body. Flying isn't just flapping around. You'll learn air paths, wind reading, and silent landing techniques."
He stopped in front of me, looked me dead in the eyes.
"You'll learn how to track targets from above. Drop in silence. Strike before they even know you're there. You'll train at night, in the cold, blindfolded if I say so."
He moved on.
"There'll be endurance flights across the desert. Combat drills at high altitude. You'll learn to fight while flying, defend mid-air, and dive without fear."
My heart pounded just thinking about it.
Sahir turned back to the group. "But none of that happens unless you survive. Most of you won't even get that far unless you listen. Follow every command. No hesitation."
He pointed to the sky.
"Your first real flight with wings won't be for weeks. Maybe months. Until then, we prepare."
A quiet buzz passed through the group. Everyone was too stunned to say anything out loud. I could feel it—the mix of fear and excitement.
Sahir lifted his hand, signaling silence again.
"And remember," he said. "You speak of this to no one. Not your family. Not the lower ranks. Not even the Queen's priests. You are now part of something bigger."
He looked around. His eyes lingered on me.
"You chose this. Don't forget it."
Then, like the moment had never happened, he stepped back, and his tone changed.
"You're dismissed. Eat. Rest. Hydrate. Training resumes before moonrise."
He disappeared.
One blink and he'd vanished back into the shadows of the stone corridor that led to the Queen's fortress.
The rest of us stood there in silence. I looked at my hands, still sore. Looked at the spot where his wings had spread out. I couldn't stop thinking about it.
Wings. Combat in the sky. Secret missions. Diving from the clouds like shadows.
I wasn't scared. I was ready.
And whatever came next, I'd survive it.
I had to.