Chapter 8 TEMPEST

LYRA

Emerging from the tent, I joined the stream of hopefuls heading onto the sacred field. No one questioned me. The officials were too busy herding everyone into loose lines, checking names against lists that didn’t include me.

I stayed at the very edge, near the outer pillars where the crowd thinned and lesser-known dragons sometimes appeared first.

The air grew heavier, electric. A low hum vibrated through the ground as the first dragons began to descend.

They came in a wave of wings and power, majestic wind riders with scales like polished silver, fire drakes breathing small bursts of flame, graceful mist dragons that shimmered in and out of visibility. One by one, they landed, eyes scanning the candidates with ancient intelligence.

Cheers rose from the stands whenever a bond formed: a flash of light, a shared breath, the rider and dragon locking gazes as the connection snapped into place.

I watched it all with my breath caught in my throat. Selene would be in the stands, probably clutching Mother’s hand, her golden hair visible even from a distance. I hoped she was doing well. I hoped a dragon would see her the way she deserved.

But I was here for my own miracle.

Time stretched. More dragons came and went. A few candidates near me were chosen, joyful cries mixing with the roars overhead. My legs ached from standing still, but I didn’t move. The shadow-weave was starting to fade; I could feel the edges of my presence sharpening again.

Then the sky darkened further. A crack of thunder rolled across the field, not from the clouds but from something alive.

A whirlwind of wind and crackling lightning spiraled down from the heavy clouds. The crowd gasped as a rare storm dragon descended, massive, scales shifting between deep gray and electric blue, eyes glowing like captured lightning. Its wings cut through the air with raw power, mischievous energy radiating off it in visible sparks.

Tempest.

I’d heard whispers of this one. Unpredictable. No rider in generations had bonded with a true storm dragon. It ignored the central candidates, circling low over the field, lightning dancing along its spines.

My heart stopped as its gaze swept toward the edges, toward me. The dragon’s eyes locked onto mine. A surge of raw power rushed through my body, like every storm I’d ever felt condensed into one moment. Images flooded my mind: endless skies, crackling thunder, freedom so vast it hurt.

The bond snapped into place with a crack that echoed in my bones.

Tempest landed heavily in front of me, lowering its great head until we were eye to eye. Up close, its scales shimmered with inner lightning, and a low, rumbling purr vibrated through the ground.

Around me, the field went silent, then erupted in murmurs. “A storm dragon… at the edge?”

“Who is that girl?”

I reached out with trembling fingers and touched the dragon’s snout. The contact sent warm sparks dancing across my skin.

“Tempest,” I whispered, the name coming to me instinctively. “You chose me.”

The dragon nudged my hand gently, almost playfully, a small bolt of harmless lightning jumping between us.

From the stands, I could imagine Mother’s face, shock, confusion, maybe even a flicker of pride mixed with worry. Selene would be cheering, her yellow hair bouncing as she clapped. But right now, all that mattered was the electric connection humming between me and Tempest, the feeling that for the first time, the sky had finally looked back at me.

Officials were rushing over now, voices raised in surprise. “Identify yourself, candidate! This isn’t on the list—”

I pulled back my hood, letting my dark purple hair tumble free in the wind. It whipped around my face like a banner, vivid and unapologetic. Gasps rose louder. “Lyra Voss,” I said clearly, voice steady despite the trembling in my knees. “I’m here. And Tempest chose me.”

The storm dragon rumbled in agreement, a playful spark dancing along its wings.

As the reality sank in, a wild grin broke across my face. I had done it. Broken the rules, sneaked in, and been chosen by the most unpredictable dragon in generations.

But even as joy surged through me, a small shadow lingered at the edge of my thoughts, Mother’s inevitable anger, the Academy’s rules about age and protocol, and the distant memory of Kai’s green eyes from the market.

What would he think when he heard?

Tempest nudged me again, impatient, and I laughed softly, resting my forehead against the dragon’s warm scales. For now, none of that mattered. I was a rider.

The sacred field felt smaller now that Tempest had claimed it as ours.

Officials swarmed like startled bees, their crisp uniforms flapping in the sudden wind kicked up by my dragon’s wings. Tempest, my dragon, stood tall beside me, scales rippling with inner lightning that crackled softly whenever he shifted her weight. The bond hummed between us like a live wire, sending flashes of images and emotions that weren’t entirely mine: vast open skies, the thrill of diving through clouds, a mischievous urge to zap the nearest annoying human just to see them jump.

I laughed under my breath, the sound shaky with disbelief and pure, electric joy. My dark purple hair whipped around my face in the gusts, no longer hidden under any hood. It felt right somehow, wild and vivid against the gray sky, matching the storm energy pulsing from Tempest.

“Lyra Voss,” one official repeated, consulting a list that clearly didn’t have my name. His face was pale. “You’re… eighteen. This is highly irregular. The rules state—”

“Rules didn’t stop her from choosing me,” I cut in, resting one hand on Tempest’s warm snout. The contact sent a pleasant spark up my arm, not painful, just alive. “Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”