Dragons Destiny: Dragonriders, #2

By Robin Wickens

In the ancient realm of Draconia, where dragons soar through skies of amethyst and riders bond with these magnificent beasts through an arcane ritual, a troubling prophecy has surfaced. Rowan, a young dragonrider of immense potential, and his loyal dragon Pyroth, stumble upon an ancient scroll that speaks of a powerful dragonrider destined to either unite the fractured kingdoms or bring about their utter destruction. 

As Rowan and Pyroth delve deeper into the prophecy's enigmatic words, they realize that dark forces are already at play, manipulating the very fabric of fate. A hidden sect of corrupted dragonriders, led by the cunning and power-hungry Zarias, seeks to exploit the prophecy for their own twisted agenda of domination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob's Books
• Release date: May 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781445739403

Robin Wickens

Robin Wickens: A Journey from Service to Storytelling Robin Wickens, affectionately known as Rob of "Rob's Books," is a retired veteran who has seamlessly transitioned from serving his country to captivating imaginations with his literary creations. With a profound passion for fantasy, Robin's work predominantly explores the enchanting realms of dragon lore. His vivid storytelling brings mythical creatures to life, transporting readers to worlds where the extraordinary becomes commonplace. However, Robin's literary repertoire extends beyond the realm of fantasy. He is also a dedicated author and publisher of a diverse array of stories and coloring books, catering to both children and adults. His works are a testament to his versatile creativity and his commitment to fostering a love for reading and artistic expression across all age groups. When Robin isn't weaving tales of wonder or crafting engaging content for his audience, he indulges in his love for fly fishing. He traverses the picturesque waters of Britain, finding tranquility and inspiration in the serene landscapes. Additionally, Robin is an avid cook, delighting in the culinary arts and often experimenting with new recipes in his kitchen. Robin Wickens' journey from a veteran to a celebrated author and publisher is marked by his unwavering dedication to storytelling and his multifaceted interests. His books continue to inspire and entertain, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts and minds of his readers.

Book preview

Introduction

In the ancient realm of Draconia, where dragons soar through skies of amethyst and riders bond with these magnificent beasts through an arcane ritual, a troubling prophecy has surfaced. Rowan, a young dragonrider of immense potential, and his loyal dragon Pyroth, stumble upon an ancient scroll that speaks of a powerful dragonrider destined to either unite the fractured kingdoms or bring about their utter destruction.

As Rowan and Pyroth delve deeper into the prophecy's enigmatic words, they realize that dark forces are already at play, manipulating the very fabric of fate. A hidden sect of corrupted dragonriders, led by the cunning and power-hungry Zarias, seeks to exploit the prophecy for their own twisted agenda of domination.

Chapter 1: Draconian History

The roar of the crowd surged like a tidal wave as Rowan Whitethorn and Pyroth Flametongue shot into the azure sky, the dragon's molten gold scales shimmering against the sun. The competition had drawn dragonriders from every corner of Draconia, but none so fervent as the young man who now held firm to the sinewy ridges of his dragon's back.

Let's show them how it's done, Pyroth! Rowan called, his voice a mix of thrill and concentrated command. The dragon responded with a guttural growl that reverberated through Rowan's bones, a sound that bespoke of ancient power and unyielding trust between rider and beast.

As they ascended, Rowan leaned into the rush of wind, his shoulder-length brown hair whipped back, exposing a face etched with focus. His piercing green eyes, mirrors of the sprawling forests beneath, scanned the course ahead: a labyrinth of floating rings of fire, treacherous spires, and sudden gusts that could unsettle even the most seasoned riders.

Steady, steady, he murmured, guiding Pyroth with gentle, yet assertive nudges of his knees. They approached the first obstacle, a hoop of flames towering above the cheering masses. Onlookers held their breath, expecting a simple glide through the fiery ring.

But Rowan had other plans.

Now, Pyroth!

At his signal, Pyroth snapped his massive wings inward, diving straight for the flames. A collective gasp swept the audience. Just when collision seemed inevitable, Pyroth unleashed his wings with explosive force, executing a spiralling barrel roll that threaded them through the hoop sideways.

The crowd erupted, voices melding into a cacophony of awe. Even the other dragonriders, perched atop their own formidable steeds, could not help but nod in respect at the daring manoeuvre. It was more than mere skill; it was artistry, a dance between two souls perfectly in tune.

Ha! Did you see their faces? Rowan laughed, patting the broad neck of his dragon as they steadied their ascent.

Pyroth let out a pleased snort, as if chuckling along with his rider. Their bond was palpable, transcending the physical connection of reins or saddle. They moved as one, a symphony of muscle and intent, each anticipating the other's next move in a seamless display of unity.

Alright, old friend, let's take it home, Rowan said, feeling the heat of competition fan the flames of his passion for riding. He did not just ride Pyroth; he soared with him, beyond the confines of the arena and into the realms of legends whispered on Draconian winds.

With a final powerful beat of Pyroth's wings, they cleared the last challenge and circled back toward the ground, their descent marked by the thunderous applause of a crowd witnessed to something extraordinary—a performance destined to be etched in the annals of dragonriding history.

Rowan slid off Pyroth's back, his boots thudding softly on the grassy earth of the arena's edge. The cacophony of the crowd dulled into a distant buzz as he stood beside his dragon, both rider and beast taking deep, synchronized breaths. Rowan pressed his forehead against the warm scales of Pyroth's snout, a silent exchange of gratitude and respect passing between them.

None too shabby, eh, Pyroth? Rowan murmured, his hand tracing the sleek lines of golden scales that ran along the dragon's jaw.

Shabby is not a word in our vocabulary, young Rowan, Pyroth rumbled back, the warmth of his ember eyes softening. You rode with the heart of a true dragonrider today.

Only because I have a dragon worth his weight in gold. Rowan grinned, patting the grand creature's neck. He felt Pyroth's low chuckle vibrate through his fingertips, a testament to their mutual trust.

Rowan Whitethorn, is it? A voice, smooth as silk yet carrying the weight of ancient knowledge, pulled Rowan's attention away from his dragon.

He turned to find a woman approaching, her silver hair reflecting the sun like threads of moonlight spun into a cloak. Her gaze held the vastness of the night sky, and as she walked closer, Rowan felt Pyroth's presence loom protectively at his back.

Seraphina Moonshadow, she introduced herself, her name carrying the echo of whispered secrets and untold stories. Your performance—no, your communion with Pyroth was quite remarkable.

Thank you, Rowan replied, feeling a flush of pride for both himself and Pyroth. We've trained hard for this day. To be noticed by the Dragon Whisperer... Well, I'm honoured.

Training can only achieve so much, Seraphina said, her eyes never leaving the bond shared between boy and beast. The rest is something deeper, something born of the soul. You two have it in abundance.

Pyroth bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment with dignified grace, and Rowan could not help but share in the gesture, though his own nod was rougher around the edges, unpolished by time or tradition.

Is it true what they say? Rowan asked, curiosity burning behind his green eyes. That you can hear the thoughts of dragons?

Many things are said, Seraphina replied, a mysterious smile tugging at her lips. I prefer to listen to what dragons choose to share. They are very discerning about whom they trust with their voices.

Then Pyroth must trust you, Rowan concluded, noting how the massive dragon remained calm and attentive in the presence of this enigmatic woman.

Perhaps, she conceded. Or perhaps he senses that our paths were meant to cross. I look forward to discovering which it may be.

Discovering? Rowan echoed, his words soaked in the earnestness that defined him. Pyroth shifted, casting a look towards his rider that spoke volumes of their unspoken dialogue.

Indeed, Seraphina responded, her gaze never wavering. The journey ahead is long, and Draconia is full of wonders yet unseen. Together, we might just uncover a few.

Sounds like an adventure, Rowan said, his voice laced with excitement, as Pyroth let out another rumbling chuckle, echoing the sentiment of his rider.

An adventure, Seraphina repeated, her smile broadening, and perhaps, a destiny unfolding.

Rowan ran his fingers through Pyroth's scales, tracing the patterns that shimmered like the surface of a lake at twilight. Seraphina watched them, her eyes reflecting some knowledge as deep and fathomless as the night sky.

Your bond with Pyroth is strong, she began, her voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of certainty. But there is more to your connection than mere affinity. You have a potential that sleeps within you, Rowan Whitethorn.

Potential? Rowan echoed, his brows knitting together. He searched Seraphina's face for clarity but found only the serene mask of the Dragon Whisperer.

Indeed, she affirmed, clasping her hands before her as if holding an invisible orb of fate between them. You and Pyroth performed feats today that others could only dream of. It is written in the stars, a prophecy whispered by the ancients.

Prophecy? The word lingered on Rowan's tongue like a strange spice, both enticing and unsettling. What sort of prophecy?

Ah, Seraphina said, tilting her head slightly, that is where the journey begins, in the unravelling of riddles and the seeking of truths hidden in shadows.

Shadows I've been chasing without even knowing it, Rowan mused aloud, his green eyes reflecting a world beyond the immediate visions of legends and myths that had always felt just out of reach.

Chasing shadows can lead to discovering light, Seraphina responded, her silver hair catching the dying rays of the sun. And I believe I hold the lantern to illuminate your path.

Please, Rowan urged, the earnestness in his voice revealing his hunger for answers. If there are answers...

Answers, yes, Seraphina said as she reached into the folds of her cloak, withdrawing a small, intricately carved case. She opened it to reveal scrolls tightly bound in leather thongs, their covers etched with symbols that seemed to dance before Rowan's eyes. These texts are ancient, passed down through generations of dragon whisperers. They speak of the Draconian culture, the very essence of what it means to be a dragonrider.

Those... they could tell me about my destiny? Rowan asked, his heart racing at the prospect of unlocking the secrets of his lineage and the true nature of his connection with Pyroth.

Destiny is a tapestry woven from many threads, Seraphina intoned, her eyes locking onto his. These scrolls may guide your hand in adding your own thread to its design.

Then I must learn from them, Rowan stated, resolve hardening in his voice as he met her gaze directly—a young man on the cusp of revealing his role in a story much greater than himself.

Learning is only the first step, Seraphina cautioned, a mysterious glint playing in her deep-set eyes. Are you prepared for where the path may lead?

Prepared? No. Rowan's response was immediate, unguarded. But eager? With every fibre of my being.

Very well, Green-eyed Dreamer, Seraphina whispered, using the epithet that had followed him since childhood. Let us begin the journey to awaken the dragonrider within you.

Rowan's fingers traced the leather bindings of the ancient scrolls, a shiver of anticipation coursing through him. The symbols etched upon their surfaces seemed to pulse with a life of their own, beckoning him into their depths. He raised his eyes to meet Seraphina's starry gaze, her presence as grounding as the earth beneath his feet.

Will you teach me? he asked, his voice brimming with an eagerness that betrayed his calm exterior. Will you help me unravel these mysteries and discover what it truly means to be a dragonrider?

Seraphina's lips curved into a knowing smile, as if she had foreseen this very moment under the tapestry of stars she so closely resembled. Rowan Whitethorn, she began, her voice low and resonant, what you seek is a path few have the courage to tread. These texts are but doors to knowledge vast and wild as the dragons themselves.

He nodded, his resolve unwavering. I must know, for Pyroth and for myself. There's a hunger in me, a thirst for the truth that I cannot quench. His hands clenched gently around the scrolls, a silent vow to the legacy they held within.

Then let your journey commence, Seraphina declared, stepping closer. Her silver hair caught the dying light, framing her face like a halo. I will guide you through the labyrinth of our history, teach you the language of dragons, and show you the sacred bond that unites rider and beast.

Thank you, Rowan breathed out, relief and excitement mingling within him like twin flames. When do we begin?

Under the morrow's first light, she decreed, her eyes reflecting a promise of adventure. Prepare yourself, Green-eyed Dreamer. The road ahead is fraught with wonders and perils alike.

Rowan's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the newfound purpose that filled his soul. With Seraphina as his mentor, he would delve into the heart of Draconia, unearth its secrets, and find his place within the grand weave of destiny.

With the golden dawn spilling over the horizon, Rowan mounted Pyroth with a newfound reverence, his heart thrumming in anticipation. Beside him, Seraphina summoned her dragon, a sleek creature of midnight blue that shimmered like the night sky. Her name was Whisperwind, and she carried an air of silent authority as palpable as the dawn's early chill.

Are you ready, Rowan? Seraphina asked, her eyes glinting with the promise of secrets soon to be unveiled.

More than I've ever been, Rowan replied, gripping the reins as Pyroth's muscles tensed beneath him.

Then let us ride the winds of fate, she declared, and with a powerful downbeat of wings, they ascended into the clear morning sky.

As Draconia's landscape unfurled below them—a tapestry of emerald forests and rugged mountains—Rowan watched the world awaken. Each flap of Pyroth's wings carried them closer to the ancient dragon-kin tribes, custodians of lore long forgotten by most.

Look there, to the River's Bend tribe, Seraphina called out, pointing towards a vast river that snaked through the verdant land below. Their bond with dragons is rooted in the flow of water, as fluid and deep as the currents themselves.

Rowan watched in awe as the dragons of the River's Bend danced upon the water's surface, their riders poised gracefully atop their backs. The dragons dipped and soared with such effortless harmony that the divide between beast and rider blurred until they seemed one entity.

Each tribe honours a unique aspect of nature, Seraphina explained as they veered northward. The connection they share transcends the physical realm; it is a union of spirits, a shared pulse within the veins of the world.

Is that what I'm to seek with Pyroth? Rowan questioned, feeling the depth of their own unspoken communication.

Exactly, she affirmed. Your bond will grow beyond mere companionship. It will become symbiotic, essential, like the roots of the World Tree entwined with the earth.

They journeyed on, the landscape below shifting to the craggy peaks where the Skyreach clan resided. Dragons here were adorned with feathers interwoven with their scales, and they rode the fierce mountain gales with thrilling ferocity. Rowan observed a young rider communicating silently with his dragon, guiding it through a narrow pass with mere flicks of the wrist and shifts of weight.

Trust and understanding are paramount, Seraphina murmured, noticing his gaze. The Skyreach know this well; their lives depend on the unspoken words that pass between them.

As they continued from tribe to tribe, Rowan's senses sharpened to the subtleties of dragon and rider relationships. He began to feel Pyroth's intentions ripple through him, an undercurrent of thought and emotion he had only glimpsed at the edges of his consciousness before.

Can you feel it, Rowan? Seraphina asked when they paused atop a cloud-kissed peak. The thread that weaves you into Pyroth’s essence?

Yes, he breathed, marvelling at the resonance between his heartbeat and the dragon's. It's like a song only we can hear.

Good, she smiled. That song is ancient and has guided our kind for centuries. Listen well, and it will carry you through the storm of ages to the truth you seek.

And with those words, they set off once more, soaring across Draconia—their quest for wisdom lighting their path like stars etched into the fabric of the night.

The chill of the high-altitude bit into Rowan's flesh like a thousand tiny needles, but he clung to Pyroth's back with unwavering resolve. They were flying over the Glistening Fjords, where the winds were treacherous and the gales unpredictable. Below them, the icy waters churned, daring them to falter.

Pyroth, to your left! Rowan shouted, his voice nearly snatched away by a sudden gust that sought to toss them into the abyss. His dragon responded instantly, banking hard against the wind shear that threatened to overpower them.

Your reactions are swift, Seraphina called from astride her dragon, a sleek midnight-blue creature named Nocturna. But remember, it is not about speed alone. Harmonize with Pyroth's instincts; let him guide you as well.

Rowan nodded, tightening his bond with Pyroth, feeling the dragon's powerful muscles coil and release with each flap of its massive wings. The dragon's determination mirrored his own—they would not be bested by the elements.

Tell me more about the rituals, Rowan said through gritted teeth, once the wind eased off, allowing them brief respite. How do they strengthen the bond?

Seraphina's lips curved into a smile tinged with reverence. The rites of binding are sacred, rooted in the very essence of Draconia. When a rider and dragon perform the rituals, their souls intertwine, creating a connection deeper than any physical tie, she explained.

Rowan pondered this as he surveyed the landscape for signs of the next challenge. The idea of being so intimately connected to Pyroth both thrilled and awed him. Is there a ritual we have yet to perform?

Indeed, there is, she affirmed. But it requires utmost trust and vulnerability from both dragon and rider. It is not something to be taken lightly.

Anything, Rowan said firmly, his conviction bolstering his voice above the howling winds. I'll face anything to understand the depths of our bond.

Be wary of such promises, Green-eyed Dreamer, Seraphina cautioned. For the path ahead is arduous and fraught with peril.

As if on cue, dark clouds amassed on the horizon, heralding a storm of ferocity unlike any Rowan had ever seen. Lightning forked across the sky, its jagged dance a prelude to the thunderous roar that followed. Pyroth growled, his eyes reflecting the tempest's fury.

Trust in each other, Seraphina shouted over the din. This storm may be our greatest obstacle yet!

Rowan leaned close to Pyroth, whispering words of encouragement and faith. We've got this, my friend. Together, nothing can stand in our way.

With a deafening crack, lightning split the sky, grazing the tip of a nearby peak. The shockwave buffeted them violently, but Rowan held on, his legs locked around Pyroth's girth. Their bond was their armour, and with it, they pierced through the heart of the storm.

Once this trial is behind us, Seraphina promised, her voice steady despite the chaos, we shall delve into the ancient texts I carry. They hold the secrets of the rituals, the knowledge you seek to unlock.

Rowan nodded, his spirit fuelled by the thought of the power and wisdom that awaited them. As they emerged from the other side of the storm, with the sun piercing through the dissipating clouds, he knew that together, he and Pyroth could weather any trial in their quest for the truth.

They sat at the edge of a reflective pool, nestled within the embracing arms of ancient trees that whispered secrets of a time long past. The water was still, mirroring the dusk sky ablaze with hues of scarlet and violet. Seraphina's silver hair shimmered in the dying light as she turned to Rowan, her deep eyes holding the flicker of the first evening stars.

Rowan Whitethorn, Green-eyed Dreamer, Seraphina began, her voice a melodious hum that seemed to blend with the sigh of the wind. The bond you share with Pyroth is, but a single thread woven into a vast tapestry of legends.

Rowan leaned forward, his earnest gaze locked onto hers, hungry for the wisdom she carried. Tell me of these legends, he implored.

Seraphina smiled gently, reaching into the folds of her robe to produce a tiny, intricately carved flute. She held it to her lips and played a sequence of notes that hung in the air, ethereal and haunting. As the final note faded, she tucked the flute away and began her tale.

Long before our time, there lived a dragonrider known as Eirik Stormbringer. He rode the tempests atop his dragon, Galewing, whose wings could summon gales fierce enough to topple castles. Together, they united the warring tribes of Draconia, their bond a beacon of hope in a divided land.

Rowan's heart raced as he envisioned Eirik soaring through tumultuous skies, a fierce leader bound to an equally fierce creature. And what became of them? he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Legends say they ascended to the heavens during the Great Convergence, leaving behind a legacy of unity and strength, Seraphina replied, her gaze now distant, reflecting on tales as old as time itself.

Could I ever... Rowan hesitated, the weight of his own potential bearing down upon him.

Your path is yours to shape, just as Eirik shaped his, Seraphina assured him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

As night settled around them, they rose from their reverie and continued their trek through the dense forest. Before long, the trees thinned, revealing a valley bathed in moonlight. At its centre lay the village of the final dragon-kin tribe, its fires casting a warm glow against the dark silhouette of their dwellings.

The tribe's elder met them at the threshold of the sacred library—a circular chamber carved into the heart of an ancient tree. With a nod of recognition towards Seraphina, he beckoned them inside. The heavy scent of parchment and earth filled Rowan's senses as he stepped into the