Skyborn

The Summons: Dust and Dreams

The sun warmed the flat mesa, making the red rock glow. Dust devils spun across the dry land, like playful ghosts dancing. Lyra didn’t really see them. Her hands, stained purple from wild berries, quickly sorted the harvest into baskets. Today’s pick wasn’t much, but enough to trade for oil lamps and thread.

Old Man Tiber would grumble, as usual. He always did. But he always traded fairly, and in Pellas, that meant everything. Pellas clung to the side of the mesa like a bird’s nest, made of clay homes and winding paths. Life here was simple. It was hard work.

Lyra liked it that way.

“Slow down, you move too fast,” a voice called.

Lyra looked up, shading her eyes. Kaelen’s younger sister, Elara, leaned against a doorway, arms folded, a small smile on her face. Elara was younger, but acted like Lyra was a little kid.

“Just trying to finish before it gets too hot,” Lyra said, wiping sweat from her forehead.

“You always finish things. Relax. Maybe learn to braid your hair instead of hiding it under a cap.”

Lyra touched her practical braid. “Braids don’t pick berries.”

Elara laughed, a clear, bright sound. “No, but they might catch a Skyborn recruit’s eye.”

Lyra’s stomach tightened. The Skyborn. The dragon-riders. The best of the best. They were legends in Pellas, whispered about in secret. Stories of their bravery, their skill, their bond with the huge dragons that flew over Aeridor.

And in one week, a Skyborn messenger would come to Pellas to pick new recruits for the Academy.

It was a chance to leave. A chance to be something more than a berry picker. But it was also scary.

“Don't tease,” Lyra said, trying to sound calm. “I’m not interested in the Skyborn.”

“Oh, come on,” Elara said. “You watch them fly over for hours. You know all the dragon families. You even draw them in the dirt.”

Lyra frowned. “I’m interested in dragons, not the riders.” There was a difference, a small but important one. Dragons were old, wild, powerful. The riders… they used the dragons. They controlled them. That’s what the stories said.

The bell above Tiber’s shop jingled as Lyra carried in the baskets. The shop smelled of dried herbs, woodsmoke, and metal. Tiber, his face full of wrinkles, barely looked up from polishing a dragon scale.

“Berries,” he said, taking the baskets. “Not a big harvest.”

“It’s been hot,” Lyra explained. “I’ll go further up the mesa tomorrow. There’s a patch near the old ruins.”

Tiber snorted. “The ruins? Stay away from that place. Bad luck hangs around it.”

Lyra knew the stories. The ruins were all that was left of a Skyborn outpost, abandoned years ago. People said a bad storm destroyed it, but others whispered about something else. Something about the ‘aether’, the energy that connected dragon and rider. Old tales said the aether was weakening, and the outpost fell because the riders lost their connection.

Lyra had always been curious about the aether. She’d spent hours reading old scrolls her grandmother had saved, trying to understand the lost art of using it. It wasn’t useful for a berry picker, but it felt… right. Like a hidden part of her.

“I’ll be careful,” she said, knowing Tiber wouldn’t stop her. He knew she could handle herself.

He handed her a small pouch of coins. “Enough for lamps and thread. And a new knife. You chipped the blade on your old one.”

Lyra took the pouch, smiling a little. Tiber acted tough, but he always looked out for her.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just stay out of trouble.”

The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the village. Lyra sat on the edge of the cliff, sketching in the dirt with a burnt stick. Not dragons today, but the lines of the canyon walls. The ...