Dawn broke soft and golden, the kind that made the dew glisten like stars had melted onto the earth.
Lira stood just outside the academy gates, her satchel secured at her hip, cloak fastened tight against the early chill. She had already packed light: a few more ingredients, extra empty vials, her bonewood pestle, and a charm Renkai had quietly slipped into her hand before she left, a smooth stone etched with a spiral.
The halls behind her were still half-asleep, save for a few apprentices sleepwalking through their morning routines. But she was fully awake. Something in her heart had shifted since the planting, a deeper clarity, like her path was aligning with something older than the academy itself.
Footsteps echoed.
She turned.
Master Therin approached, his cloak billowing behind him with the confidence of someone who hadn't slept but was too excited to care. His beard was still tangled, one of the copper hair sticks sticking out at a strange angle. But his eyes were bright, alert, almost youthful like they held none of yesterday's weight.
"Good morning," he said, voice crisp with energy. "You're punctual. Excellent."
"You sound like you've already had three cups of stormroot tea," she said with a raised brow.
"Four, actually," he grinned. "I may vibrate through dimensions if I'm not careful."
They shared a chuckle, then walked together down the path leading to the academy's open field - a wide, mist-kissed space used for summoning trials and flight lessons.
Lira was expecting another peculiar method of travel, perhaps another strange bottle, or something stitched from clouds and ink, but what she saw made her pause mid-step.
A giant turtle, the size of a carriage, rested peacefully in the grass. Its shell shimmered with hues of mossy green and deep sapphire, etched with ancient-looking runes that pulsed gently. Long tendrils of beard-like moss hung near its face, and it blinked with slow, patient wisdom. A saddle-like structure was affixed to its back, made from braided leather and copper inlays.
Lira stared. "Is that… your flying turtle?"
Therin stepped proudly beside the creature and patted its shell with affection. "Indeed. Meet Moro. Trustworthy, serene, and only slightly gassy."
The turtle let out a deep rumble, almost like a chuckle, and nudged Therin gently with its massive head.
"You didn't think I had only one way to fly, did you?" Therin continued. "The pumpkin bottle was for short hops, town competitions and bakery runs. This… this is for real journeys."
Lira approached Moro slowly, letting him sniff her palm. "He's… beautiful," she whispered. "And ancient. How old is he?"
"Older than the academy, by a few centuries," Therin said proudly. "Found him curled in the roots of a storm-bent tree, half-asleep and dreaming of clouds. Took him years to agree to carry me. But once bonded, ah, he's been with me ever since."
Moro lowered his head, and a ladder unfurled from a notch in his shell.
"Well," Therin said, climbing up first, "let's see if he still remembers how to catch wind."
Lira followed, settling into the saddle beside him. The leather was warm from the turtle's shell, the runes around them humming softly in her bones.
"Hold tight," Therin called as he tapped a carved crystal inset on Moro's harness.
The turtle's eyes flashed once, then with a slow grace, his limbs lifted from the earth. The runes ignited in cascading patterns, and with a mighty beat of energy - not wings, but something older, subtler - they rose.
Above the trees. Above the towers. Into the early light of morning.
Lira gripped the edge of the saddle, her hair lifting in the breeze, eyes wide with wonder. Beneath them, the world unfurled like a painted scroll. The mist parted to reveal rivers like silver threads, hills waking with songbirds, and far in the distance — the shimmer of wild lands untouched by the academy's order.
"This is freedom," she said quietly.
Therin smiled, the wind tugging at his beard. "And the beginning of real magic."
The academy shrank below them, its spires swallowed by mist. They rose higher, wind brushing Lira's cheeks, the cold thinning as the turtle's magic softened the air around them.
Forests stretched in vast carpets of green and gold, rivers gleamed like silver veins in the land. Below, villages bustled with life, dots of color moving between fields, thin lines of smoke rising from morning fires. Herds of sky elk moved through a plateau far in the distance, their antlers glowing faintly with light. A flock of translucent wind birds swirled around Moro in greeting before diving away into the clouds.
Therin mostly stayed quiet, his eyes sharp as he scanned the land below. Lira noticed how he noted certain markings in the earth, places where trees had fallen in strange spirals, or lakes that shimmered with unnatural colors.
But then, as they passed over a stretch of wild forest, untouched, deep and ancient, Moro slowed.
Therin leaned forward. "There. Do you see it?"
Lira followed his gaze.
Far below, in a clearing just beyond a bend in the river, something moved. Not fast. Not with fear. Just… presence. The trees around it leaned inward slightly, as if drawn to whatever it was.
The air tingled.
"What is that?" Lira murmured.
"I'm not sure yet," Therin said, voice lower now. "But it's not natural. Or… not entirely. She feels… aware."
Moro began to descend of her own will.
Therin didn't stop her.
The air shifted as Moro descended, wind thinning into silence. Below them, the forest yawned open into a glade, untouched by axe or footstep. The trees stood tall, their trunks twisted with moss and memory, leaning inward as if they, too, were holding their breath.
Lira's hand found the charm in her satchel. The spiral etched in the stone felt warmer now.
Moro landed softly on the edge of the clearing, barely stirring the undergrowth. Therin slid down first, landing with a soft thud, his expression unreadable.
Lira followed, her boots pressing gently into the damp earth. The silence was... different here. Not empty. Listening.
"There," Therin said quietly, pointing just beyond a veil of hanging willow.
Lira stepped forward, parting the branches.
And there it was.
Nestled beneath the gnarled roots of a great tree lay a creature no larger than a curled hound, its scales deep green, like moss after rain. A faint shimmer passed over its body with every breath, blending it almost perfectly with the forest floor. Around it, a perfect ring of mushrooms glowed faintly at the caps, their edges pulsing with life.
The wyrmling's chest rose and fell with gentle snores, a soft whistling hum escaping its nostrils. Its wings, though still small and folded, shimmered with flecks of gold, and tiny claws twitched in sleep, like it was chasing dreams.
"A wyrmling," Lira whispered, eyes wide. "I've only ever read of them. I thought they were… gone."
Therin stepped beside her, kneeling with reverence. "So did I. But this one… she's young. Newly hatched, perhaps. And alone."
"Why would she be here?"
"I don't know," he murmured. "The mushroom ring suggests old magic. Protective. Maybe even summoned by the land itself to keep her hidden."
Lira crouched slowly, letting her presence settle into the space. The wyrmling stirred, one eye cracking open, a slit pupil swimming in a sea of glowing emerald.
For a breathless moment, they stared at one another.
Then the wyrmling yawned, revealing a mouth of tiny, polished teeth, and let out a questioning chirp.
Lira smiled, heart fluttering. "She's not afraid."
"Then we approach gently," Therin said, his voice low. "Wyrmlings bond fast if they choose you. But if we frighten her..."
"She might vanish."
"Or call something much older."
Therin took a cautious step forward, boots pressing softly into the mossy ground. The air felt charged, thick with old forest magic. He slowed his pace until he stood just a few steps from the sleeping wyrmling.
Then, with a quiet grace rare for him, he knelt.
"Greetings, little wyrmling," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My name is Therin. I am a magician… and an alchemist. I'm searching for the greatest, strongest wyrmling to help me with my work."
The wyrmling's eyes snapped open.
For one suspended heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then - whoosh - a small, crackling fireball burst from its mouth and shot straight at Therin.
"Wuh–AAAH!" Therin yelped, stumbling backward as he twisted awkwardly to dodge it, his cloak flaring like a panicked bird. He spun a half-circle on one foot, flailed, and barely managed to keep himself from falling flat on his back.
Lira covered her mouth, both alarmed and amused.
Therin coughed once, straightening his robes with a huff. "Fiery disposition. Excellent."
He tried again, kneeling with one knee in the soft grass. "Great wyrmling," he said more formally this time, "if you choose to help me, I will reward you. You shall have your own bottles of special potions - explosive, glittering, bubbly, or soothing. And as much food as you like. Roasted roots, fresh fruit… smoked sky-salmon. I also have… treasures."
At that word, the wyrmling's eyes flickered. Not just a blink, they sparkled. A subtle glow shimmered across the irises, and the little dragon tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, intrigued.
Lira watched with growing fascination. "He… understood that."
"He's smart," Therin murmured over his shoulder. "They always are."
Then he leaned a little closer. "Help me protect my treasures, and in return, you shall have your own hoard. Big enough to sleep in. Shiny things. Warm blankets. Pickled peaches in jars."
The wyrmling blinked again. Then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he pushed himself up from his curled position, yawning so wide his little fangs gleamed in the sun. He gave a catlike stretch, back arching, tail curling into the mushroom ring.
Then he looked at Therin — head tilted left, a slow blink, like a curious child.
Despite being a wyrm, there was something undeniably cute in his movement.
Therin held out a hand, not too close, not too demanding. "So what do you say, mighty one?"
The wyrmling growled, then gave a small snort - this time, just a wisp of smoke - and stepped over the ring of mushrooms.