It is my year.

The feeling pools in my chest with a fiery warmth, crackling like flames. After all this time—all these years of schooling, of learning magic, of frustration—it has all come to this moment. It is my year to watch over the dragons for the next 365 days.

"Thrilled" does not even describe it. Elation spreads from my chest to the rest of my body, an elation only magic can bring. It bubbles inside me, and my grin, tattooed on my face, is only one reflection of it. I am ready for this responsibility.

This year, unlike other years, the challenges loom closer than ever. Nonmagical dragon hunters are determined to eliminate the dragon species for good, as a means to hinder us witches from growing more powerful. They know our bond to the dragons is one that, when severed, will leave a gaping hole in our community.

I will not allow this to happen. Not under my watch. Not that I am now a fully-grown witch.

The journey begins, not on a dark and stormy night, but rather on a day where the sun pulses bright and strong. I whip my cloak around me, my wand secured in its holster at my side, a back slung over my back full of all the food I'd need for the one-day journey to the dragon habitat, where I am to relieve the current witch from their yearly duties. I mount my horse Cassiopeia, pat her white head, and then she rears—we're off!

Cassiopeia gallops past trees, clearings, and the like, all while we are under the burning sun. I wipe some sweat from my brow and fling my hand to the side. That is when I notice them. My heart stutters in my chest. The dragon hunters have found me.

On horseback as well, they flank me on either side. I urge Cassiopeia to speed up, which she thankfully does, as though she too senses the danger. We charge ahead of them, but they fall into formation behind me. My wand quivers in its holster, and I put my hand on it as though to calm it. Not yet, I think. Please. Don't hurt me, and I won't have to hurt you.

An arrow surges past my head, nearly nicking my ear. I scowl. So this is how it has to be.

Fine. You chose this.

Yanking my wand out of its holster, I wave it in a circle over my head. The ground splits behind me, and I hear the sounds of yells. When I turn back, no one is hurt, though. Damn it.

"Faster, Cassiopeia," I whisper. "We need to get there even just a little bit before them."

We do, but still, they pursue us. Cassiopeia's exhaustion sets in, but still, she pushes on. I brush the side of her neck, her mane flying into my face. "Good girl," I whisper. "I'm sorry. Thank you." If I babble to her, her energy propels her forward. The dragon hunters behind me, for whatever reason, do not shoot at me again.

At our speed, we are approaching the dragon habitat much quicker than we would have otherwise. I bite my lip, scraping my teeth against my chapped lower lip, pulling the skin back and into my mouth. I swallow. What can I do? I have learned all about dragons, about their magic and our bond, but nothing has prepared me to be ambushed by dragon hunters. And if I lead them to the dragons—

The solution comes to me, but my body quakes at the thought of it. This may be the only way—

I urge Cassiopeia to turn a sharp right. She obliges, whimpering as if she knows. "Don't worry, girl," I whisper. "You will get out of this."

The further we go, the saltier the air turns, as the sun begins its afternoon shine and sheen fest. The sweat drips freely down the back of my neck as Cassiopeia sprints away from the dragon habitat.

My heart thunders as the trees open up to reveal the sea. I force Cassiopeia to stop, jump off her, and swat her away. "Go—go, girl!"

She huffs as the dragon hunters enter the enclosure. They too dismount, bringing their weapons up. "Cassiopeia," I say, "this is not your fight."

Still, she stays. The dragon hunters run closer to me as I edge toward the edge. Gulping, I wonder: can I even do this?

The sight of dragon skin on their person—their chests and waists and heads, fashioned into clothes—sets my resolve. I grit my teeth, my nostril flaring. "How dare you," I say, my voice emanating even as the waves crash below me and the cliff. "You wear dragons. It is a sin."

One of the dragon hunters guffaws, his lips curled up into a sick smile. "Look, if you take us to dragons, there needn't be any reason for us to hurt you."

"Though there might be other reasons to keep you around," says another one, his blue eyes dipping my body. The others have their arrows taught and ready. I gulp but place a hand on my wand.

"Not so fast," says the first one. "We can't find the enclosure without you. We don't have the magical authority."

"It's not an enclosure," I say. "It is dragon territory. A habitat. You are doing wrong by dishonoring that."

"We don't give a damn about dishonor," he sneers. "All we care about is getting rid of you creatures, and it starts with the dragons!"

"If you say so." I gulp but force myself to stand taller, my spine elongating. "We're already here."

"Liar," he spits. "I see no dragons here."

I shrug. "Just follow me." And with that, I turn around and heave myself over the edge of the cliff, Cassiopeia crying in neighs from behind me.

I fall. The sound of arrows whiz above me, but I do not look up. I look out in to the distance, where I see them streak like shooting stars into the sky, out into the sea's beyond. I resist the urge to close my eyes. I want to remember this clearly in my last moments. My wand vibrates in my hand, as though urging me to do something, you can still save yourself, but I know it is for naught. I must give up everything to protect the dragons, and I would rather succumb like this than at the hands of cruel dragon hunters. If they can do what they did to some poor dragon or two, then who is to say what they can do to me?

The sensation is too much. The air whips by me, pulling the skin of my face up, and I shut my eyes finally before I hit a sickening crunch on the rocks below the water's surface.

My body jolts and trembles violently as I land on something scaled and wrinkled. I cannot move, but I am still conscious—is this what happens after you die? I've always wondered.

Feeling returns to my fingers first, those fine digits, as I move them slowly. They connect with the surface beneath me, and again I feel the scales. My head is next, so I crack open my eyes. I move the mound of hair off of my face and gasp.

I am flying. When I turn my head to the left, I see a wing outstretched. I am dragonback.

I laugh. The dragon turns its head, its lone blue eye meeting mine, as I run my hands and then my feet, once I've regained feeling there, across its grey, scaly back. You're awake, the dragon says to me, its voice reverberating in my skull.

"Am I dead?" I whisper.

On the contrary. The dragon's wings unfurl even more, and we soar higher under the beating sun. We are honored by your desire to sacrifice yourself to protect us. It shows you love us without knowing us.

"What of the dragon hunters? And Cassiopeia?"

I think we scared off the dragon hunters for now. And another dragon scooped up Cassiopeia. The dragon breathes smoke from its nostrils. We will take you to the habitat, where you are to finally do your duty.

"But..." My lip trembles. "My duty is to protect you. You and every dragon. But you're the one saving me."

Protection comes in many forms. The way the dragon says it, I feel as though they are smiling. Before you are even our protector for the year, you have already shown a great deal as to what kind of witch you are.

"And what kind is that?"

The dragon snorts, more smoke emanating from its nose. I think you know.

The tears threaten my eyes, as well as a lump in my throat, but I welcome it. My chest feels full. I spread my arms around the neck of the dragon, embracing it. More than duty and prestige, caring for the dragons is about our bond, as witch and dragon, magical creatures. It is about love. 

As we fly closer to the mountain top, the other dragons join us in the sky, wings unfurled, roars full of the feeling in my chest. So we exit, pursued by a dragon—or rather, the whole lot of them.