The Dragon Rider’s Code #4
A 4-part fantasy story about a girl, her dragon, and the greatest test of trust and flight she’s ever faced. Part 4: The Last Truth
The examiner’s whistle still rang in her ears—sharp, rising, echoing off the cliffs. Then the world began to shake.
Below them, the water convulsed. A circle of lake turned black, bubbled, and exploded.
A second rock monster rose from the depths.
Twice the size of the first, its mouth stretched open like a cathedral gate. Jagged stone teeth dripped with slime and moss. Its roar was deep—felt more than heard. Water streamed down its face like tears.
Kaelin froze.
That lake—she’d swum there as a child. She remembered splashing in the shallows, daring herself to dive deeper. Her father had built their cottage nearby. That water had always been her haven.
Not anymore.
The monster surged upward, its mouth yawning wide, right beneath them.
“Up!” she cried.
Sable responded instantly, beating his wings with a power that made the air shudder. They rocketed into the sky in a vertical climb.
Kaelin’s eyes slammed shut from the speed and wind. The world blurred, air screaming past her ears. Behind her, the jaws snapped shut with a thunderous crack.
The monster bellowed in frustration, sinking back into the depths.
They had escaped.
But something was wrong.
Drifting
“Sable, left,” she said, her voice steadying.
No response.
“Left,” she repeated, tugging the reins.
Nothing.
Sable climbed higher and higher, toward a snow-dusted peak that shimmered in the morning light.
“Why are you not listening?” she muttered.
Then she heard it—the shriek.
Not of alarm. Of longing.
A dragon lay curled on the peak ahead, its ridged tail coiled around a nest of steaming moss. Sleek, elegant, and colored in shimmering reds and golds—mating colors. A brooding female.
Kaelin’s breath caught. Sable knew her. Or… remembered what this meant.
Mating season.
Sable was no longer flying the test. He was flying to her.
The Only Way
She had seconds.
Kaelin glanced back. The examiner sat still, squinting into the wind.
“Sable!” she shouted, trying to reach him through sheer will.
Nothing.
She gritted her teeth. There was only one thing left to try.
She reached down and began unfastening the saddle straps.
The examiner’s voice snapped through the wind. “What are you doing?! You’ll fall!”
She didn’t answer.
The saddle came loose. She pulled herself forward along Sable’s spine, gripping the reins with one hand and dragging the leather seat with the other.
Scale by scale, she edged toward the neck.
“Easy,” she murmured.
The wind whipped around her. The dragon’s body trembled beneath her—half from exertion, half from instinct.
She reached the base of his skull, drew the saddle up, and with one powerful heave, pulled it over his ears and eyes.
Sable roared—blinded, deafened. He bucked wildly in midair.
Kaelin clung to the reins with all her strength, legs hooked under his neck ridges.
He began to spiral.
The Touch
“Steady,” she said, though he couldn’t hear.
She crawled forward until her palm pressed against his snout—just above the nostrils. The softest part of his body, the one place not armored by scale.
“Sable,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
He thrashed once more, then stilled.
“I know you can’t see me. Or hear me. But I’m here. You know this touch. You know me. And I need you to come back.”
His head dipped.
She felt it—not submission, but surrender. A quiet yielding of trust.
She gave the reins the slightest pull to the left. He followed. A tiny turn. Another.
Slowly, gently, they descended.
The nest fell away below them, untouched.
They spiraled downward until the jagged cliffs softened into hills and meadow.
The Landing
She didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. She could feel the examiner’s silence.
At the last moment, Sable spread his wings wide. The air caught them, slowed them. His claws brushed the grass like a feather on parchment.
They landed so softly the flowers didn’t bend.
Kaelin slid from his neck, boots hitting the grass. Her legs almost gave way beneath her.
Behind her, the examiner dismounted.
He said nothing for a long time.
Then: “I’m impressed.”
Kaelin turned.
“Not by the diving,” he added. “Not by the clever use of terrain or your tactical feints.”
He stepped forward, voice low now.
“But because you knew that to command your dragon, you had to become his senses.”
He reached into his coat and drew out a silver pin—the crest of the Skyguard.
“Dragon Rider,” he said. “You’ve passed.”
The Farewell
That night, her town erupted in celebration.
There were lanterns, feasts, children dancing in the streets. Her parents cried when she walked through the gate with Sable at her side.
She ate roasted duck and honeyed carrots, drank pear cider, and smiled until her cheeks hurt.
But when dessert came, she stood.
“Excuse me,” she said. “There’s someone I need to thank.”
The stable door was gone.
Not opened—burned. Charred wood still smoldered in the grass. Inside, the ropes lay in ash.
She walked past the wreckage and into the field behind their home, boots wet with dew.
The mountain loomed in the distance.
She looked up.
Two dragons danced above the peak—circling, singing, casting sparks into the sky.
Flashes of gold and obsidian lit the stars.
Kaelin watched in silence.
She was a dragon rider.
But this ride was no longer hers.
And that, she realized, was the last truth of the Code—
A dragon is never owned, only accompanied.
She smiled softly, the wind brushing her face.
“Farewell, my friend,” she whispered.
“Go shine.”
I loved this! The part where Kaelin touches Sable and talks to him even though he can’t hear her, reminded me of letting God do his work, and surrendering like the dragon did. Thank you for this wonderful story.
A dragon rider without a dragon, at least for the night we pray.
Hoping that the dragon returns on the next new day.
Health, hope, family to raise.
Even a dragon needs something to praise.