The Hollow Earth, Eldir-Vahn, had swallowed tamers whole on days like this one. Crispin squared his shoulders against the thought. Nineteen years of watching nobles walk past the forge without looking at his father. Today, they would look at him.
Bethany's shoulder brushed his. "Are you going to try for one of the dragons, Crispin?"
His boots found something interesting in the grass — light refracting off dew in patterns that had nothing to do with the sun. "That's the goal. I know with thirty of us searching for them though, it will be a bit of a gamble."
"Agreed."
He had never been this far from Thalandir on his own. Eldir-Vahn spread before them. Hills rolled and dipped into valleys amongst the scattered villas and grape vineyards. Field workers, as small as ants from the distance, moved to load produce. Someone tapped a door as large as a city's gate. A horn sounded, and the airship climbed toward one of the sky islands, its hull catching the crystal glow as it rose. The island hung inverted above a vineyard, roots trailing soil and stone into open air.
Whoa…
"Go back to taming sheep, and rams, Thorneborn." Lucien laughed. "You aren't ready for dragons. They take a certain personality type to hold the bond."
Crispin rolled his eyes and glared. The knights stylish leather armor gleamed with fresh polish. How long had it taken the slaves and servants to polish it to such a luster? Lucien walked with a gait of a prince in procession to visit his favorite mistress. "What did you tame?"
"Suncrested Falcons. Parcel delivery and hunting," Lucien chuckled.
Crispin hung his head and kept walking.
"Mountain serval, myself," Dario admitted. He leaned closer to Crispin's ear. "Don't worry about it. You'll bring home a legendary and show his uppity ass."
"I'm bringing home a dragon," Lucien cooed.
Crispin ignored him. "What did you tame, Bethany?"
"Baby Qulin mostly."
"I've trained baby rock boar when they can be found," he added.
Lucien scoffed. "I think its time we split up. Unless we do, none of us will tame anything worthwhile."
"Agreed," Bethany said.
Crispin hesitated, then broke off toward the western trail. Dragons enjoyed nesting in forested locations depending on their breed. He pushed through into the woods.
He remembered stories his grandfather told of chasing water pixies through this part of the forst. Crispin smiled. Towering fungi caps stood nestled into the ridges of the mountains.
"If you can hear me, old man," he whispered, "lead the way. Help me find something that will bring our line pride, even if it isn't a dragon."
Motes of light drifted like lazy fireflies amongst the silver oak trees, and thick vines crept along stone and root alike. Streams cut paths through moss-covered ground; distant calls echoed—some melodic, others unsettling.
A stone-hide tortoise occupied the path ahead, its shell rising in ridges and valleys like a mountain range compressed into something that breathed. Ancient. Immovable. The kind of creature that had outlasted everything that ever tried to move it.
How would it even fit in a cave or hunt in the field? No, it wouldn't do. He chuckled as it moved it head toward him. He pet it, and offered it a clump of glow moss.
A glint-wing bird perched on a branch of petrified wood. Its feathers shimmered like shards of polished sun-crystal. With emerald-like eyes, the creature stared at him, its head tilting. The creature was beautiful but held the energy of a coiled spring. The moment he reached out, the bird vanished in a streak of golden light, leaving only a single shimmering feather behind.
Crispin followed the sound of a trickling stream, kicking a loose stone ahead of him.
A winged serpent lay coiled along the rocky crest of the basin. Crystalline scales caught the glow of the moss, each plate reflecting light like cut glass. Pressure built in Crispin's chest as he approached. His pulse blazed with each step.
The moment his awareness brushed the serpent's edge, sensation flooded him. Heat like forge-tempered steel. A surge of defiance so sharp it felt like a blade turning in his palm. Something beneath that — a hunger for dominance that tasted nothing like partnership. A warning pulsed through his instincts—this bond would cost him something he couldn't name yet.
Crystalline Winged Serpent
Temperament: Hostile
Possible Special Abilities: Envenomate, Solar Flare, Feather Quill
This beast will not surrender and will have to be acquired through domination.
Warning: Bonding with this creature could alter your temperament and make you quick to anger.
He stepped forward and extended his hand, ignoring the systems warning. This may not be a dragon, but it was just a step down. Yes, he could do this. He would prove it, not only to the others, but himself. Feathered serpents were a member of the Coatl family, and as exotic as they came.
A twig snapped.
The serpent surged upright, wings flaring as its body arched. Venom gathered at the tips of its translucent fangs. Crispin stopped and held his ground, fingers steady despite the tremor in his chest.
He reached for the bond. Resistance met him. Defiance welled in the beast's soul like a dam.
He studied the creature instead of forcing the pull. He adjusted his stance and his breathing. The bond could hold. Patience would be mandatory.
The serpent hissed, mouth opening wider.
Crispin lowered his hand. This would be a contest. A bond taken…did he want such a bond? This would be enslavement, not companionship.
He stepped back.
The serpent settled, coils tightening as it reclaimed the stone. Tension bled from the air as he turned. It did not differ from his time at the forge. One shared energy with their metal, not fighting against it with every breath. Regardless of how much he wanted to stand among the taming elite…this wasn't the way—and if it was, it wasn't his...
Feet thundered past.
"Dragon!" someone shouted.
Crispin watched them surge forward. Black wings flapped overhead and flew above the canopy.
He had time to step aside as a gaggle of students charged through, laughing and shoving, eyes fixed skyward. One of them almost crushed something small beneath his boot.
A sharp pressure tightened in Crispin's chest. "Hey!"
A streak of translucent blue darted aside—flowing rather than running—and vanished into a shallow alcove near the stream. Crispin didn't hesitate. He ran after it and dropped to his knees by the moss-covered rocks.
"Hey," he whispered. "Little guy?"
Nothing responded from the shadows at first. Crispin waited, keeping his breathing shallow and his posture low. The damp smell of moss and cold stone filled his nose. A gelatinous shape peeked around the edge of the alcove, glossy and clear, reflecting the shifting forest lights like a sphere of liquid glass. Two glowing eyes blinked at him before the creature slid back into the darkness.
Crispin smiled despite himself. "I won't hurt you," he said, keeping his voice an indistinct murmur. "My name's Crispin. I'm a tamer."
The slime eased out a little farther, its body rippling with a soft blue luminescence. It seemed to vibrate, testing the air or perhaps the sincerity of his words.
"Do you know what tamers are?" Crispin asked.
The slime bobbed once, a distinct and deliberate motion that sent a surge of surprise through Crispin's chest. Most wild slimes were mindless scavengers, yet this one possessed a sharp, focused awareness.
Bond
Slime
Temperament: Pacifist—Morally Gray.
Possible Special Abilities: ???
This beast will not surrender through force. It has extreme intelligence and will only bond with someone it trusts.
Warning: Slimes do not have standard stats and require unique care to grow and evolve. Slimes can become voracious for Blueprint acquisition once bonded.
Crispin laughed. "Good. Sorry about the others. They're just excited. Dragons and all."
The slime drifted closer, its surface smoothing out as it lost its defensive tension. It stopped just inches from his hand.
"Have you seen any dragons around here?"
The slime nodded.
His pulse quickened. The prospect of a legendary beast was the dream of every youth in the village. "Do you think you could take me to them? I'd love to tame a dragon."
The slime shivered. It flattened itself against the moss, turning thin as it tried to vanish into the ground.
Crispin winced, feeling a pang of guilt. "Yeah. Fair. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near them either." He tilted his head, watching the creature recover its shape. "Have you seen anything… worth taming?"
The slime grew a small, translucent arm and tapped its own core.
"You?" he asked, his voice rising in disbelief.
The slime nodded enthusiastically. It reshaped part of its body into a tiny, flexing bicep, holding the pose with a comical sense of pride.
Crispin burst out laughing. The sound echoed through the quiet grove, startling a few glowing motes into the air. "You're strong, huh? I've never seen a slime down here before." He considered the little creature for a moment.
It was small and charming. "How about this," he said, holding out his hand, palm up. "I'll offer you, my bond, and you can come with me. If we find something better—something you don't want to be around—I'll make sure you're safe and let you go. No pressure."
The slime paused. Its internal light pulsed with a steady, thoughtful rhythm. It nodded. A nub of jelly pointed at Crispin before the creature's surface flattened and hardened, forming a wide, translucent shield.
Crispin grinned. "You'll be my shield?"
The slime wobbled.
"Deal."
He reached inward, feeling for the familiar pull of the taming rite he had practiced for years. The bond formed. Warm and gentle, a flush surged through him, like clasping hands instead of snapping chains. A brief shimmer passed between them. Crispin saw the creature's surface ripple, symbols flickering beneath the jelly before settling into his mind.
Regulus.
He held out his arm. Regulus flowed up the fabric of his sleeve and settled on his shoulder, squishing down against his neck.
"Alright, Regulus," Crispin said, standing up and brushing the moss from his knees. "Let's see what the others found."