Private Tales Frost and Flame

[Cole]

The sky was pure madness. Wings beat all around him, massive and shrieking, throwing the wind into chaos. Cole’s heart was in his throat, his knuckles white as he clung to the obsidian dragon’s spine. He didn’t even know if he was holding on correctly. Was there a right way to sit on a goddamn dragon? He didn’t have time to worry about it.

They were diving, banking, chasing. Everything blurred into motion and heat and screaming wind. Somewhere below, someone was picked off by a wyvern, their scream swallowed by the storm around them.

His dragon twisted violently, and Cole felt his stomach lurch as they snapped at a fleeing wyvern, jaws missing by inches. He grit his teeth, one arm aching from the brand seared into his chest, the other wrapped tightly around the warm ridge of his dragon’s neck. He was alive. That was still surprising.

And then he saw her.

A flash of white and silver against the darkness, a blur of movement. Ice.

His dragon rumbled beneath him. Ahead, the frost-dusted dragon spiralled upward out of nowhere, slicing through the air with impossible grace. He barely had time to track its sleek form when he caught a glimpse of the rider clinging to it. Wind tangled her pale hair, blood streaked her temple, but her eyes were open and burning.

"That frozen monstrosity has a rider?!" Cole blurted in disbelief.

Their eyes met, he and the girl, and for the briefest second, time stilled. There was no storm. No screeching. No burning sky. Just her, clinging to the ice dragon’s back with raw tenacity.

And then the moment shattered.

Her dragon dove.

“Whoa, shit—” Cole barely held on as his own dragon jerked in surprise, wings flaring wide to keep steady. The frost dragon plummeted beneath them, then rose up like a geyser of vengeance, twisting in front of them with a shriek that made Cole’s ears ring.

“What the hell is your problem?!” he yelled at the gleaming beast, though it wasn’t clear if he meant the dragon or the girl on its back.

Then came the kill.

The ice dragon’s jaws opened wide, and with horrifying precision, it snapped down on the wyvern his own dragon had been chasing. The impact cracked through the air like thunder, bone splintering, blood spraying into the sky in a fine, red mist.

A mist that covered him.

Cole sputtered, blinking rapidly as warm droplets spattered across his entire body. He made a sound of absolute disgust, jerking his head away and wiping his sleeve across his lips.

“Oh, that’s fucking vile,” he groaned, nearly gagging as he looked up at the ice dragon now savouring its prize. Was it grinning??

He turned his eyes back to Synneve, mouth twisted into a grimace. His dragon snorted beneath him as if amused, and Cole growled, digging his fingers into the spines for stability.

“Alright, frostbite,” he muttered at her across the air, “You wanna play rough? Let’s dance.”

And with that, his dragon surged forward, chasing the wake of blood and frost.

 

[Synneve]

The world had quickly become a screaming blur of wind and wings as riders were chosen and their great beasts filled the skies.

Synneve's fingers burned where they clutched onto the ices ridges of a scale, her nails tearing as the dragon dropped into yet another murderous dive. Her ribs were still aching from the earlier blast, ears rining from being thrown twice, but she refused to let go. She flattened herself against the beasts back, legs clamped hard against the slick surface as if she could root herself there. Hopefully the years of training with her siblings had put enough muscle on her thighs to keep her put.

"Gods above, are you trying to kill me?" She shouted into the roaring wind, her voice nearly ripping from her throat. The dragon did not answer, unless the wild, bone-rattling shriek it gave counted as a response.

Her stomach lurched as her dragon twisted, banking hard enough that the ground and sky swapped places in her vision. She bit back a cry, tasting blood on her tongue. White-blonde hair had long since came loose from its braid and now whipped across her face, catching the wind like a banner.

And then, through chaos, she saw him. Another rider.

Dirty, dark blonde hair, a grim set to his mouth. He was clinging to a dragon that looked like obsidian, its hide glinting like wet stone. For a heartbeat, they stared at one another through the storm of air, and she saw the shock flicker across his face. Perhaps she was just as surprised as he that the ice beast had taken a rider.

But then her dragon...her dragon... made its move.

It plummeted low, cutting across the obsidian beast's path in a daring move that sent Synneve's hear into her throat. The wyvern the other dragon had been pursuing barely had time to screech before the ice dragon's massive jaws snapped closed around its neck.

The sound was horrible. Bone cracking, sinew tearing. The world around seemed to go silent for an instant just to make sure Synneve heard every wet, crunching detail. A spray of hot blood misted across Synneve's face, painting her pale skin in crimson streaks. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting, but there was no escaping the copper tang filling her nose and mouth.

She spat, gagging. "Was that necessary?!" She swiped at her mouth with the bloodied back of her wrist. The dragon's answering roar rattled through its entire frame, through her bones, vibrating in her chest.

Of course it had been necessary.

It angled its body upward in a sharp climb, and Synneve choked back a scream as her stomach plummeted. She barely had time to catch her breath before a flash of movement in the corner of her vision made her glance back.

The obsidian dragon.

It's wings snapped open wide, rider bent low over its back as it surged forward in pursuit.

"No no no, no! Don't you dare let him catch us!" She begged her beast. As though amused, the ice dragon folded its wings close and dove.

The world tilted violently. Synneve nearly lost her grip twice, body sliding dangerously to one side before she jammed her boot up against the spine of her dragon and dragged herself bac up. The air screamed past her ears, everything stung from the wind. But she risked a look back.

The obsidian dragon was right there. It's rider's hair plastered to his face, face determined as hell to put an end to Synneve and her dragon. The sight sent a bolt of panic straight through her. Fly faster! She wished her dragon understood, though she doubted her commands were needed or even considered. The beast seemed to revel in the chase, weaving through jagged spires of volcanic rock, skimming so low to the ground that ash and dust erupted in their wake.

But still, the obsidian dragon followed.

Each bank, each twist and dive, felt like it would fling her from the dragon, but she held on, refusing to let this chase claim her.

 

[Cole]

Cole was convinced this was how he died. Not by sword, not by ice, not even by some smug bastard besting him in a duel, but by being shaken the fuck off the back of a dragon who seemed hellbent on throwing him into the ground just to see if he’d bounce.

His jaw ached from gritting his teeth, his fingers were numb and raw from clinging to the spines, his thighs were screaming from holding on, his arm and chest still burned from the his fiery brand and frostbite. Not to mention he'd just climbed a fucking mountain. Every twist, every dive, every murderous snap at a wyvern’s tail nearly flung him into the abyss.

But gods help him, he was still holding on.

Wind tore at him, deafening, and his vision blurred with speed. And then, cutting through the chaos, there she was.

The girl. Still clinging to the frost scaled demon that had nearly frozen him solid not an hour ago. She looked just as ragged, just as close to being ripped from her saddle-less perch as he was, but her dragon moved with a savage elegance. Where his beast was brutal and precise, hers was sharp, merciless, almost playful.

And the worst part?

The dragons were playing.

They twisted and dove around one another, snapping up wyverns like they were little more than insects, their massive bodies weaving through the skies in some hellish dance. One moment his dragon dove under hers, black scales glinting with molten light, the next hers banked so close he could see the frost steaming from its wings as it cut across their path. Each kill was a contest, each shriek of a dying wyvern another point scored in some game only they understood.

Cole’s stomach turned with every blood spray, but the dragons only seemed to thrive on it.

“Are you shitting me?!” he bellowed into the wind, voice half hysterical laughter and half snarled terror as his dragon spun under another wyvern and tore its wing clean off. “You’re competing! Now you want to show off?! I’m hanging on by my fucking fingernails and you’re—”

The words cut off as his dragon rolled sharply to the side, skimming a jagged spire so close Cole’s boot scraped stone. His heart shot into his throat.

“—you’re trying to fucking kill me, aren’t you?!”

The dragon’s only answer was a low, rumbling growl of satisfaction that vibrated through its body.

And on and on it went, until at last, silence. The skies cleared. No more wyverns. No more shrieks. Only the beating of enormous wings as both dragons circled downward, blood dripping from their maws, their talons, their scales and their riders.

Cole sagged forward, letting his forehead rest against the hot scales beneath him. His whole body trembled from the strain of holding on, every muscle screaming. He could barely breathe, lungs ragged against the sulphur thick air.

“Gods above and below,” he rasped, voice hoarse, “they weren’t kidding when they said only complete fucking morons signed up for the Rising.”

Yet a laugh broke out of him anyway, raw and a little unhinged. If this hadn't been a trial by fire, he didn't know what was. And yet, he’d done it. Against every odd, every wound, every dive that seemed meant to shake him loose, he was still here. Still alive.

His dragon landed heavily, the ground quaking beneath its weight, wings folding in with a final sweep of air that nearly knocked him over. Cole slid from its back and hit the ground harder than he’d have liked, staggering but somehow still upright.

And when he lifted his head, breath burning in his chest, he saw her dragon touch down nearby, and he was staying the hell away from the beast.

Drenched head to toe in blood, he dragged his hands down his face, trying to clear the spatter, but it was of little use. "Disgusting." he spat, earning a rumble and a huff from his dragon.

His gaze fell on the girl who had survived the same chaos, who had clung to the back of death itself and made it to the ground alive, just as he had.

“Well,” Cole muttered, dragging a bloody hand across his mouth, “guess I wasn’t the only moron who made it..”

 

[Synneve]

Synneve had no idea how long this lasted. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Every moment blurred into the next as her dragon tore through skies like a mad beast, weaving and diving with such vicious abandon that she was convinced it wanted to kill her just as much as the wyverns did. She clung to its back until her arms screamed, dodging stone, geysers of sulfur, and the snap of a wyvern's jaws as if she were nothing more than a treat her dragon was offering up.

The obsidian dragon was never far behind. Black scales, molten eyes, it cut through the skies with the same precision her frost-born dragon wielded with savagery. Their riders- herself and the obsidian's rider- were nothing more than unwilling passengers in this game they hadn't chosen. A game played in blood.

Every time she thought their chase was over, her dragon surged forward again, taunting, weaving in front of the obsidian beast as if daring it to keep up. The air was thick with blood, with shrieks, with the thundering of massive wing. And then, just like that, it ended.

Her dragon's momentum slowed. Its massive body dipped, wings flaring wide as it spiraled down toward the scorched earth. The obsidian one mirrored, two titans descending together. Synneve's chest tightened as she realized that this wasn't a fight at all. They weren't enemies. They were companions in the hunt.

Ground trembled as her dragon landed, too close to the other for comfort, frost curling from its maw as the obsidian dragon gave a low, answering rumble. Both creatures seemed oddly...satisfied. Bloodied and victorious.

Synneve slid down the side of her own dragon, boots hitting the blackened stone with less grace than she would have liked. Her body was numb, fingers trembling from the strain of holding on. Her face was sticky with blood and wind-chafed raw. She was certain most of her hair had also been tinted red from the blood of the beasts their dragons killed. For a moment, she only stood there, swaying as she tried to catch her breath and force the adrenaline down.

Then she saw him.

The ride of the obsidian dragon.

Alive. Upright. Staring.

Her exhaustion evaporated in a rush of white-hot anger. Her jaw clenched, fists curling tight at her sides. This man and his wretched beast had nearly gotten her killed ten different ways in the span of minutes. And for what? Some grotesque game?

Rage carried her forward before reason could hold her back. She stormed across the short distance, hair flying wild around her bloody face.

And without a word, she punched Cole square in the face. Her knuckles cracked against his jaw with satisfying force, the pain in her own hand grounding her in a way the skies had not.

It was a perfect introduction.

 

[Cole]

It was as though he’d never seen a woman storming toward him with murder in her eyes. He had, several times, and yet he was ensnared by this fucking temptress and those hips. Damn.. Every step was fierce, deliberate, boots crunching against the scorched earth, hair whipping wildly around her bloodied face. Rage radiated off her in waves, white-hot and undeniable.

But even as he tried to look calm, composed, maybe even a little impressive, his eyes betrayed him. Despite the wind, the grime, the streaks of blood across her skin and armour, he couldn’t help but notice her curves, the strength in her stride, the taut lines of muscle, the way she moved with unyielding purpose. Somehow, fury-soaked and windswept, she was… excellent.

He dragged a hand through his own matted, gore-slick hair, flicking the spatter of blood from his fingers onto the grass, as though he could make even this whole ‘slaughterhouse’ look work.

He opened his mouth to say something smooth, something charming, maybe even a joke, “Well hey there dar—”

And then, crack.

Pain exploded across his jaw as her fist connected perfectly. Shock stole his breath, and his hand shot up instinctively, clutching his face as hot blood welled into his mouth. He staggered back, eyes wide, stunned.

“OW! What the FUCK, woman?!” His voice came muffled under his hand, “Fuck!”

Shit.. Did he know her already?…

He pulled his hand away and spat, trying to regain focus, keeping his gaze carefully on her in case she tried again.

The dragons watched the scene with mild amusement, heads tilting, talons digging into the scorched earth. They had survived the chaos of the skies together, but now their riders seemed intent on taking the fight to the ground.

His eyes tracked her, taking in the tight curl of her fists, the set of her jaw, the streaks of blood across her pale skin. He tipped his head slightly, half in challenge, half in admiration with a dimple of amusement. “Nice hook…”

“I’d love to know what the fuck I did to deserve the honour of your attention.” He said, jaw flexing as he looked her over from head to toe in obvious admiration.