UL1 - Book 11 - Chapter 106

Rakonath soared above the mountains, the wind beneath his wings carrying the scent of pine and snow and something else, something that smelled like home.

Below him, the dragon settlement of Skyheart sprawled across the peaks and valleys, a city built for beings who could fly. No streets connected the buildings, no bridges spanned the gaps between cliffs. Everything was vertical, layered, accessible only to those with wings.

It was beautiful. And it was his.

He banked left, catching a thermal that lifted him higher, and surveyed his domain. In the twenty three decades since they'd created this world, the dragon population had grown from the handful he'd brought. Wyrmlings, drakes, and a few young adults, all learning to live together in a way that dragons rarely did.

That was the challenge, really. Dragons were solitary by nature. They claimed territory, defended it against all comers, and tolerated others only for mating or the occasional alliance of convenience. Building a community went against every instinct his kind possessed.

But Rakonath had learned from Max that instincts could be overcome. That there was strength in cooperation that no individual could match.

He folded his wings and dove toward the training grounds, a series of floating platforms held aloft by magic, where the younger dragons practiced combat under the supervision of their elders. Today's session was already underway, and he could hear the clash of claws and the roar of breath weapons even from a distance.

Bremeon was there, his brown scales dull against the gray stone of the platform. The young drake had grown considerably in recent years, nearly thirty-five feet from nose to tail now, and he was sparring with two smaller dragons simultaneously, his movements showing promise if not yet precision.

Rakonath landed on an observation ledge, his weight sending a tremor through the stone. Several dragons glanced his way, acknowledging his presence with brief nods before returning their attention to the fight.

Bremeon drove one opponent off the platform with a sweep of his tail, then wheeled to face the other. Fire gathered in his throat, Rakonath could see the glow building beneath his scales, but he released it too early, the burst going wide as his opponent dodged.

"Hold," Rakonath called out, gliding down to the platform. "You're telegraphing your breath attacks."

Bremeon's head drooped slightly, frustration evident in his posture. "I'm trying to be faster, but—"

"Faster isn't the problem. Patience is." Rakonath landed beside the young drake, his silver scales gleaming in the afternoon sun. "You're building the fire correctly, but you're releasing it before your opponent commits to a direction. Wait for them to move, then adjust your aim."

"Shale Spark never had to wait," Bremeon muttered. "She always seemed to know where they'd go."

The name sent a pang through Rakonath's chest. He missed her, missed all of Miranna's party. They'd brought energy and purpose to the settlement, and their absence left a hole that hadn't fully healed.

"Shale Spark had exceptional instincts," Rakonath said carefully. "But she also trained constantly. Every day, for decades. You've been at this for what, five years?"

"Six."

"Then you have decades of work ahead of you before you can compare yourself to her." Rakonath softened his tone. "That's not criticism. That's reality. The question is whether you're willing to put in the time."

Bremeon raised his head, meeting Rakonath's eyes. "I am. I want to be ready when... when things change."

When protection ends. When gods come for us. The young drake didn't say it, but they both knew what he meant.

"Good." Rakonath spread his wings. "Then walk with me. I want to discuss something."

***

They left the training grounds together, moving through the vertical city with the ease of beings born to the air. Around them, dragons went about their daily lives—hunting, crafting, teaching, learning. It still surprised Rakonath sometimes, seeing his kind interact so peacefully. In the old world, this many dragons in one place would have meant constant territorial disputes and occasional deaths.

Here, they'd built something different. Something better.

"You're quiet," Bremeon observed. "More than usual."

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

Rakonath didn't answer immediately. They'd reached the edge of the settlement, where the mountains gave way to open sky. He could see for hundreds of miles from here—forests and rivers and plains, all part of the world they'd created.

"Do you remember what I told you about the obelisks?" he finally asked.

"That they're anchors. That they connect us to the land and to each other." Bremeon tilted his head. "Why?"

"Because I felt something this morning. A pulse from the obelisk network that was... different." Rakonath flexed his claws against the stone. "Stronger than usual. More urgent."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. But it reminded me of something I've been avoiding thinking about." He turned to face the younger dragon fully. "When protection ends, this world will be vulnerable. Everything we've built here… the settlement, the community, the future of our kind… could be destroyed by a single hostile god."

Bremeon's scales rippled, a sign of unease. "Max and you would protect us."

"Max will do everything he can. But he's one god, and there are thousands who might want what we have." Rakonath looked back at the settlement. "We need to be able to protect ourselves. Not just as individuals, but as a flight."

"A flight?" The word was old, rarely used. It referred to a group of dragons who fought together, coordinating their attacks like a single organism. The last true flight had disbanded centuries ago, its members scattered across worlds.

"A flight," Rakonath confirmed. "Dragons who train together, fight together, and defend each other. It goes against our nature, but so does everything else we've done here."

Bremeon was quiet for a long moment, processing his words. Then he nodded slowly. "I'll help. Whatever you need."

"I was hoping you'd say that." Rakonath spread his wings. "Come. I want to show you something."

***

They flew north, beyond the settlement and into the wild mountains that Rakonath had claimed as his personal territory. The peaks here were higher, the air thinner, the wind fierce enough to challenge even strong flyers. It was a place he came when he needed to think, or when he needed to push himself.

Today, it was the latter.

"This is where I train," he said as they landed on a plateau near the summit. "Away from the others, where I can use my full strength without holding back."

Bremeon looked around at the scarred rock, the melted stone, the claw marks gouged deep into the mountain itself. "You did all this?"

"Over the past few years, yes." Rakonath moved to the center of the plateau. "Max gave me two of his abilities, modified for my use. One is regeneration—my wounds heal faster than any dragon's should. The other is... more complex."

"What is it?"

Instead of answering, Rakonath closed his eyes and reached inside himself. It had taken him time to figure out what he wanted skill-wise, and the cost to trade them out was impossibly high. Yet there it was. The ability sat there like a second heartbeat, always present, always hungry. He'd named it Draconic Absorption—a gift from Bob that let him consume the essence of defeated enemies and convert it into temporary power.

He'd been hesitant to use it at first. It felt too much like Consume, too much like the black skill that made Max both powerful and dangerous. But over time, he'd come to understand it as a tool, no different from his claws or his breath. What mattered was how he used it.

"Watch," he said.

He activated the ability, drawing on the reservoir of essence he'd accumulated through hunting and training. Power flooded through him, his scales hardening, his muscles strengthening, his senses sharpening. For a brief moment, he was more than he'd been—faster, tougher, deadlier.

Then the moment passed, the temporary boost fading as the essence was consumed.

"That's incredible," Bremeon breathed. "How long does it last?"

"A few minutes, depending on how much essence I've stored. Long enough to turn a fight, if I time it right." Rakonath flexed his wings, feeling the lingering echo of the enhancement. "But it's not enough on its own. No single ability is. That's why I need the flight."

"I don't understand."

"When protection ends, gods will come for us. Some will be stronger than me. Some will be stronger than Max." Rakonath met his eyes. "But none of them will be stronger than all of us together. If we can coordinate, truly coordinate, not just fight in the same space, we can defeat enemies that none of us could face alone."

Bremeon considered this. "Dragons don't coordinate. We never have."

"Then we'll be the first." Rakonath turned toward the open sky. "Fly with me. I want to try something."

They launched from the plateau, climbing until the settlement was just a speck below them. The air was thin here, cold enough to frost their scales, but Rakonath barely noticed. His focus was on the exercise he'd been planning for weeks.

"We're going to practice hunting patterns," he said. "Standard dragon tactics, but modified for multiple attackers. I'll be the prey—you try to bring me down."

"Just me?"

"For now. Once you understand the principles, we'll add more dragons." He wheeled to face Bremeon, flying backward with lazy wingbeats. "The goal isn't to overpower me. It's to control my movement. Force me where you want me to go, cut off my escape routes, make me react to you instead of the other way around."

Bremeon nodded, his eyes narrowing with focus. "Ready when you are."

"Begin."

The brown drake came at him with enthusiasm but poor angles, his first attack easily dodged. Rakonath used the opening to demonstrate, banking hard and putting Bremeon in his wake turbulence.

"You came straight at me," Rakonath called out. "That gives me all the options. Try again—this time, think about where you want me to go and cut off that path first."

They reset. Bremeon approached more cautiously this time, circling to Rakonath's left before committing. Better. When Rakonath dodged right, the young drake was already adjusting, trying to herd him toward a cliff face.

"Good!" Rakonath rewarded the improvement by not immediately escaping. He let Bremeon work, let him feel what it was like to control a larger opponent's movement. Then he dove, using gravity to accelerate beyond what his wings could achieve.

Bremeon dove after him, but he was smaller, lighter—he couldn't match Rakonath's speed in a straight descent. The silver dragon pulled up at the last moment, skimming over a ridge and using the terrain to break the line of sight.

For a few seconds, he was free. Then Bremeon appeared above him, having anticipated the maneuver and climbed to intercept. His flames washed over Rakonath, not hot enough to injure but enough to mark a hit.

"Well done," Rakonath said, genuinely pleased. "How did you know where I'd go?"

"You mentioned using terrain to break contact during the lecture last month." Bremeon fell into formation beside him, breathing hard but looking satisfied. "I figured you'd practice what you preach."

"I do. And you remembered." Rakonath climbed higher, preparing for another round. "Again. This time, I won't make it easy."

They went again. And again. And again.

Bremeon lost every exchange, but he lost better each time—lasting longer, making smarter decisions, forcing Rakonath to actually work for his escapes. By the tenth round, the young drake was adapting mid-flight, adjusting his tactics based on what had and hadn't worked.

That was what Rakonath needed. Not perfection, but the ability to learn. Dragons who could think and adjust would form the core of his flight. Dragons who just attacked would be liabilities.

***

By the time they returned to the settlement, the sun was setting. Bremeon's wings trembled with fatigue.

"That was harder than I expected," Bremeon admitted as they landed on the observation ledge. "You're faster than you look."

"And you're smarter than you give yourself credit for." Rakonath folded his wings, settling onto his haunches. "Tomorrow I want to try it with you and Chemmis together. Then we'll add more."

"You really think we can build a flight?"

"I think we have to try." He looked out at the settlement, at the dragons moving between the vertical buildings. "When I bonded with Max, I thought I was gaining a partner. Someone to fight beside, to share strength with. And that's true. But I've also gained something else—a reason to think beyond myself."

Bremeon waited, listening.

"Dragons live for thousands of years," Rakonath continued. "We're patient, long-sighted, careful. But we're also selfish. We hoard treasure, territory, and knowledge, never sharing, never building anything that outlasts us. When we die, everything we accumulated dies with us."

"That's our nature."

"It was. But nature can change." He gestured at the settlement. "Look at what we've built here. A community. A future. Young dragons growing up with peers instead of rivals, learning cooperation instead of competition. In a thousand years, they'll be the strongest flight in existence—not because they're individually powerful, but because they've never known any other way."

"And you want to protect that."

"I want to make sure it survives long enough to matter." Rakonath stood, shaking out his wings. "Which brings me back to the training. I can't do this alone. I need dragons who understand what we're trying to build and are willing to fight for it."

Bremeon straightened, his fatigue seemingly forgotten. "Then you have one. And Chemmis will join—I know she will. She's been talking about wanting more purpose than just hunting."

"Good. Speak with her tonight. We start formal flight training tomorrow at dawn."

The brown drake dipped his head in acknowledgment, then launched himself toward the lower levels where the younger dragons kept their quarters. Rakonath watched him go, feeling something that might have been hope.

It was fragile, this thing they were building. A single hostile god with enough power could tear it all down. But that was true of everything worth having. The tower had taught him that. Max had taught him that.

Speaking of Max...

Rakonath spread his wings and flew toward the tower at the center of the world. He needed to update his bonded partner on the flight training, discuss resource allocation, and coordinate schedules. The mundane work of building something that mattered.

But as he flew, his thoughts drifted to Shale Spark and Miranna, facing their own challenges. He missed them. Missed the energy they brought, the questions they asked, the way they made him think about things differently.

Three hundred years before they could return. An eyeblink for a dragon, but it felt longer when you were waiting for family.

Stay safe, he thought, knowing they couldn't hear him. Grow strong. And when you come home, we'll be ready to welcome you.

He reached the tower and landed on the balcony outside Max and Tanila's quarters. There was work to do.

There was always work to do.

But tonight, after the planning, the coordination, and the endless discussions about DP allocation, he would return to his mountain and dream of silver skies and dragons flying in formation.

It was a good dream, one worth fighting for.