"Get back here!"

Why do people think I'm gonna stop as they shout and chase me? Nagan grimaced. Once again, he had failed to grab a stale loaf from the town baker. He was the only one who left the old breads displayed outside his shop. As far as Nagan was concerned, it was fair game and practically begging to be taken. Who wants to buy old bread, anyway?

He spun around the corner and dashed into another alley.

Wrong turn. He didn't recognize this area. But with the angry, burly man chasing him, there was no way he would entertain the thought of giving up. It wasn't until he saw a dead-end approaching did he realize his luck was just as bad as the other days.

He skidded to a stop and looked around frantically. There had to be somewhere he could go! Anything would do, and the sound of the man's pounding footsteps were getting dangerously close. Unfortunately, the only thing around was a rickety pile of crates, all too feeble-looking to hold any sort of weight. But if he could just use them to jump to grab the ledge, then—

Nagan only had enough time to put one foot on the nearest crate. He felt a large hand grab the back of his tattered shirt and yank him backwards before lifting him off the ground, the crates falling and scattering with a crash as he flailed. Immediately, Nagan dropped the loaf of bread to pull at his collar where it choked him. A strangled cry tore from his throat out of fear and frustration.

"Let go of me!" he shouted. His vision was becoming blurry and dotted with black the more he struggled. "Take your stupid piece of bread, and let go!"

"You think I'm gonna take back that dirty loaf after your filthy hands have touched it?" the baker screamed, backhanding the boy across the face. A metallic taste filled Nagan's mouth. "This time, I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

Nagan's eyes flew wide open as he watched the man pull out a knife. He knew the baker carried it—he had seen it before when the baker cut open sacks of flour. Now up close to it, he realized the blade was much bigger than he thought. A new wave of panic and adrenaline flooded his veins. He needed to get out of this situation now!

There! With a stroke of sheer luck, there was a small hole hidden behind the crates. It looked like a tight squeeze, but it was just large enough for his thin body to pass through.

Nagan willed himself to relax. He needed to concentrate.

A foreign feeling gathered in his gut as he yelled out a single word.

"Sor!"

The word morphed into the chime of a bell as the surrounding area froze, but he knew he had to act quickly. The only spell he knew only lasted a few moments. With no remorse, he wrenched himself away from the man, tearing his shirt harshly.

Free from the man's grasp, he darted for the exit and near-clawed his way to the other side. He was halfway through before he felt the same calloused hands wrap around his ankle. The man dragged him back, and the jagged crevice scraped his sides raw. This was the worst situation he could be in at the moment, but he wasn't about to give up now! As a last resort, he flung and kicked his feet wildly until he felt one land a hit. A satisfying crunch sounded.

The baker howled and cursed in pain, releasing Nagan's leg. That was enough, and soon Nagan pulled himself through the hole and sprinted as far as he could.

By now Nagan was hopelessly lost, but he couldn't care less. He ran until his lungs burned and his throat felt raw. His legs buckled beneath him when they could take no more, sending him sprawling to the ground. There, he laid motionless, completely exhausted as new pains joined old ones. He at least had half a mind to roll into the shade and flung his arm over his face to block the remainder of the sun. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, and even then it wasn't much. It was beginning to take a toll on his body.

This wasn't how he had always lived. He once had a mother and tribe who cared for him. Together they traveled along the coast of the Jaruvion Sea in Sa'aremak's borders, and sometimes a bit beyond that as well. Even now, Nagan still moved from town to town, but it was out of necessity rather than because he wanted to. If the villagers started to recognize him as a thieving beggar, they would chase him off before he got close, and that was when he would need to move on. Soon, he would have to move on from this town, too.

No one wanted him.

Nagan sighed at the thought, brushing away painful memories. What would he give for the stability of his childhood that seemed so long ago...He had lasted two summers and a winter on his own, but how much farther would his unfortunate luck take him?

It had been only a few minutes (but Nagan wished it had been hours) before an odd beating sound began coming from somewhere. Nagan stubbornly kept his eyes closed, however, ignoring the fact it was coming closer. More than likely, it was just some person walking nearby. They would usually leave him alone, anyway. It wasn't like he was doing anything besides laying there, he was too tired and sore!

That was when something fell besides him and the ground shook. In an instant, Nagan's eyes shot open and he bolted upright. Never in a million years would he have been prepared for the sight before him.

The thing had landed on its back. Oversized wings sprawled awkwardly, one unfurled to the side while the other curled around it. Unblinking, golden eyes peered up at him, mere inches away from where Nagan sat.

"AHHH!"

Nagan scrambled back in shock until his back pressed flat against the brick wall behind him.

That's a dragon, Nagan thought in shock, trying to stabilize his breathing and make no sudden movements. That's definitely a dragon, right in front of me and—small?

This wasn't the first time he had seen a dragon, but even then, it was always from a distance. In the bigger cities, there were stables and places where Dragonmages and their dragons could stay for a night or two as they went along with their business.

Dragonmages. The symbol of Norvea itself as the land, sky, and sea's greatest protectors. People who had the privilege of forming bonds with the magnificent, winged beasts. His father was a Dragonmage himself, Nagan remembered, but he had only met his father's dragon a couple of times. He barely remembered how it looked and much less its name. His father disappeared long ago, ever since he was four, and the great Nageth Elvar had been missing ever since.

It wasn't until he was older did his mother explain he may never come back, and from then on, he was aware of death.

Nagan stared too long, however, as the baby dragon promptly hopped to its feet to growl at him, assuming a crouched position. The hairs on the back of Nagan's neck stood up as it began hopping around. Its light blue, jagged scales glittered in the sunlight that found its way between roof tiles and clotheslines.

Is it...trying to play?

Realizing that Nagan was indeed not trying to play, the dragon sat with a purr of confusion, tilting its head to the side as if asking why he was scared.

Nagan continued sitting stiffly against the wall, debating what he should do. The most common piece of advice said about facing a wild dragon—at least, he assumed it was wild since he didn't see a handler around—was to pray to whatever ancient was listening and hope you survived. But the dragon seemed harmless enough. It hadn't lunged for him yet, after all.

That's when he noticed something tied around its neck. A gold ribbon with a scroll. There was something written on it, but it was too far away for him to read properly.

"Uh..." he began dumbly, "you don't bite, do you?"

Nagan scrunched up his nose as he realized how dumb he sounded, trying to talk to a dragon. He glanced around the alleyway to make sure no one was around. He didn't need to be known as an insane boy in addition to a thief.

"If you can even understand me," he muttered next.

The dragon purred again and trotted towards him, much to Nagan's horror. Nagan threw his arms out in front of him.

"Wait a second—"

Thankfully, it simply sat down once again and presented the scroll proudly. He relaxed his arms, and after a second he glanced down at the scroll. With the dragon now in front of him, Nagan could finally see what it said, but his curiosity quickly turned into disdain.

It was in Tarkovish, the primary language of the region. He knew how to speak it—he could speak it very well, in fact, if not with a light accent—but reading was another story entirely. Tarkovish letters differed from Rakshu, both in characters and in structure. But when he concentrated on the curly golden letters, his brow furrowed, he found it spelled out two very familiar words.

Nagania Elvar

That was indeed his name. Glancing once more at the dragon, he slowly reached to take the scroll. The dragon had other ideas, however. Like an excited puppy, it pushed its snout into his hand while its spiked tail wagged happily. Nagan nearly jumped out of his skin at that, but realizing what the dragon wanted, he started to awkwardly scratch its scales.

"Good...dragon?"

He reached out again with his other hand and grasped the scroll firmly. The ribbon fell to the ground when the scroll was pulled away. Nagan's hands shook lightly, still exhausted from the day's events, as he unfurled the scroll.

The whole letter was written in Tarkovish. Fantastic. This could take him hours to decipher! But something in the corner of the page caught his eye. A crest with a dragon curled around a sword and shield. The words may have been unfamiliar, but the crest was one he knew well.

It was the crest of Carvolier Academy, a school known for training the most talented mages of the century, and most importantly, Dragonmages. Each country had their mage school, from the deserts of Sa'aremak to the snowy mountains of Froshrinra, but it was here in Tarkon on a little island to the West where any Dragonmage of great renown had gone to school. Not to mention, it was a common place mentioned when his mother told him stories of his father, for his father trained and worked in Carvolier himself.

But what could Carvolier want with me? A shiver of excitement ran through him. Maybe, just maybe, this was an invitation to join. This could change his life, and perhaps he could even find out what happened to his father.

With a new wave of motivation flooding through him, Nagan focused on the letter, determined to decipher it. Just as he got to the second line, however, the dragon huffed a ring of smoke around him, and Nagan found himself thrown into a swirl of colors.