Mardav had finally built up the courage to go to her, speak. He was going to ask her to dance. Was… until the royal family had stepped out to declare it was time for the Choosing. Even then, as hundreds gathered to watch, he had seen her in the crowd. 

Pain seared through his flesh, writhing and crawling up his arms. Did she see him now? Mardav shuddered at the thought. How couldn’t she? 

He was surrounded by everyone who had traveled to attend the great Choosing Ceremony. Mardav stood at the culmination of everyone’s gaze. It was a right of passage for every person of Loraillvon when they came of age. After a year of training with each House, the Choosing would tell them to which vocation they belonged. Which House they would serve. 

When his name was called she had been watching him. It was because of her wide, almond gaze that he had not hesitated to approach the Master's circle. Seven of the House Masters had stood with talismans in their outstretched hands. A token and symbol of each House that would rise if it was his destined future. 

The first he had passed was the Master of the Guard. The plain dagger in the Master’s outstretched hand remained still so Mardav had moved on. A Master Farmer had held a small bundle of lavender tied with twine. Next had been the Builder with his twisted figurine of steel and wood. Mardav also had passed a bottle of potion to represent the Mages and a lace doily for the Healers. 

With two talismans left, Mardav had paused at the outstretched hands that offered him a white feather. Never before had he seen a Seraphim, the creatures that were blessed by the Creator with unique powers and wings. The Seraphim were the kings and queens of Loraillvon. 

Mardav’s father had told him to take a good look at the feather, as well as its former bearer, while he was at the Choosing. It would be rare if he ever saw either again in his lifetime. Even as he circled, the Seraphim king and queen had looked down on him from a balcony above. 

Though Mardav found the feather beautiful, he had not lingered long. Only one Master had been left for him to approach - The House of Beasts, which Mardav had hoped would be his Choice. He had circled to the final Master. In her outstretched hands had lain an oddly shaped gold disc. It gleamed from the torchlight around them.

“Dragon scale,” the Master had whispered to Mardav. 

His eyes grew as he beheld the remarkable object. His mind had flurried with questions. 

How did they obtain it? Had it been found? Had a dragon offered it to them as a gift? Which dragon was it from? 

Before he could voice any of his thoughts, however, the golden scale rose had risen before him. This was the magic that Mardav was familiar with. The Master from the House of Beasts had dropped their hands as Mardav reached up in their place, taking hold of the scale that floated between them.

The Choice was made. His vocation confirmed. Mardav belonged to the House of Beasts. All was right in his mind and soul at such a future. 

But as he held the gleaming scale up for the crowd to see, it burst into flames within his grasp. Orange and red fire licked the scale’s edges. They traced down his fingers and arms, writhing around him with fury.

Now he watched as the House Masters backed away. Everyone shuffled from him as Mardav tried to release the dragon’s burning scale. Yet it latched onto him, his flesh searing against the scorching flames. His muscled tightened as they fought against the object. Its gold surface, once a thing of beauty, turned to an icy blue - the heart of the hottest flame.

They all watched as the flames slithered around his arms, twisting down his sleeves and disappearing within. But as the gathering crowed stood in shock, Mardav’s eyes were pulled into the scale’s power. 

Shadows danced across its reflective surface, showing him silhouettes of people, beasts, and creatures beyond his imagining. He saw shadows of dragons flying over mountains, waterfalls, and temples of old.

Then the scale spoke. 

Protect us.

The voice was deep. It rumbled inside his mind as if he were speaking to a dragon itself. 

Protect our darkness, our favored shadow. 

There was a roar beneath the words. Dragon’s roaring. Screams echoed behind them. 

Do not leave his side, or evil will finally receive its desire. You will be each others saving and undoing. The Fallen are coming.

The scale slipped from his unwanted grasp. He felt it slide against his finger tips even as it burned into his flesh. Yet as it fell, the scale dissolved - cascading into ash. It landed in a pile at his feet, fully disintegrated. The grass it landed upon hissed and spat as if the ashes charred their green stalks. 

Mardav stood with his arms still outstretched. The flames were gone, but the burning remained. In his mind, one final word echoed from the message.

His eyes stung with tears, a sadness that he could not explain, yet it twisted inside his chest. All eyes from the surrounding crowd were upon him. It was mere moments before he returned to himself, inhaling in a shaky breath. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing. 

Mardav remembered the crowd around him. He noticed their unabashed stares. His eyes followed theirs to his arms. Twining around his corded muscles were burns - more than burns, the scale’s magic had wrapped everlasting flame around his skin. 

“Magic can go awry, though we never wish such a thing to happen,” a gentle voice said from above.

Mardav looked up to see that the queen spoke to him directly. Her dark red hair slipped out from behind her ear as she leaned over the balcony to see him. 

“This, however, is dragon’s magic.”

Magic gone awry. Dragon’s magic. The people of Loraillvon could bing magic to objects, but dragon magic was unpredictable. Dangerous. It was why Mardav had hoped to be placed in the House of Beasts, where the binding of magic was hardly needed. Where dragons were of no consequence.

“Master Healer,” the queen summoned. 

A Healing Master, the one who had been holding the lace doily for the Choosing, appeared at his side. She gently took his hand in her own. Smooth, pale skin skimming over his darker, calloused hands. He shivered, both from the light touch and from the burns. The pain was almost tolerable, though he still felt its fire and sting sinking beneath his skin. It traveled like a snake in his veins.

“You have been brave in making your Choice tonight,” the king now spoke to him. Mardov tried making him out on the balcony above, but the world around him grew hazy. “The Healers will tend to you as long as you need their aid.” 

Mardav glanced back at his hands. His finger tips were bleeding, he realized. Thick, red drops fell to the forest floor. He thought he heard it sizzled against the earth. Open, red lines puckered and throbbed from where he had held the dragon’s scale. The ones that traveled up his arms were starting to bleed and blister, as if the scale’s heat were still upon him.

“Please, take him away so his burns may be tended.” 

 Mardav was eager to have his pain relieved. It grew with every breath. Snaking and igniting inside of him. It was no longer merely his arms that were scorched, but his chest and legs ran with fire. 

“He must Choose his new name,” the Healer reminded them all.

Mardav almost cursed under his breath. Both from the pain and from the delay for this final tradition. The Choosing of a new name.

 For the ceremony itself was meant to be a trial. First the Choosing of a House - where one saw if their desires were in harmony with what the Creator had planned for their future. Second was the Choosing of a new name - for in Loraillvon names contained great meaning. Names told the world who they strived to be, what they strived to achieve.

“Make your Choice,” someone said.

As the world grew more hazy around him, tilting and spinning before his eyes, one thought was clear. One word from the dragon’s scale still roared through his mind.

“Delric,” he heard himself say. “I’m to be called… Delric.” 

He felt himself falling. Down, down, down with no stopping. Yet he wasn’t afraid. Falling felt like peace. It felt like freedom. Darkness enveloped him, masking the world from sight. But Delric was not afraid of the dark, either. He embraced it, hugging tightly to the blackness around him that would ease him further into oblivion from the pain coursing through his body. 

But in his center, in the middle of the darkest point that now pervaded every piece of who he was, there was a flicker. As if a candle began to glow. But this flame burned black with edges of blue - hotter than any real fire. It crackled and sparked, and he had no doubt of what it was.

Magic. 

This - magic - made him very afraid.

 Mardav was familiar with magic, as he’d been trained in it for the last year, but whatever was happening before him was not normal - even for the magic of Loraillvon. Worse yet, all eyes were on him as the magic went awry, burning his fingers with its fire.

This wasn’t what was supposed to have happened. He’d seen plenty others his age make their Choice. He had watched one peer after another step up and circle the talismans until one floated gently into their hands. Yet here he was, the man who stayed as far as he could from magic now being riddled by it. 

Only hours ago he had looked upon on a dark haired beauty that had caught his eye. She hadn’t been in the same training circle he’d toured with the past year, and he was instantly mesmerized by her rich amber gaze. They had stared at each other from across the forest clearing all night. Stealing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking.