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"Everyone you ask will have a different opinion, but I'm of the belief that they did survive. Out of everyone in Midori, General Naziri and his magic wielders knew the desert better than anyone, and their dragons thrive in those conditions. I wouldn't be surprised to see they've amassed an army of dragons in the last two decades."
I mull over the story before asking, "You said there's a black dragon? What kind of dragon is that?"
A boyish smile slides across his tawny face. "Ah, the black dragons are more myth than fact. I'm sure you have figured out by now that I have a great fascination with the beasts. While I was growing up, still holding onto the hope that maybe they'd return to our shores, I read every book I could get my hands on, so I was prepared when and if I came face-to-face with one." He shoves his hands into his pockets, which I'm now starting to recognize is his nervous tell. "Black dragons haven't been seen since the first war one thousand years ago when Oryn and Naya fought. The mightiest of them was named Vidarr. He was big, fast and had purple fire."
"Purple?"
He nods, excitement flashing in his eyes. "It's salt based. The black dragons resided in the northern mountains, further than we mortals have tread. Those conditions are far too harsh for us to survive."
"Tell me more about Vidarr," I say and when he smirks down at me, I explain, "I am also a fan of dragon lore."
"Vidarr was Naya's dragon. From the ancient accounts, his purple flame would turn his victims into pillars of salt."
"What happened to him?"
His smile falters. "When Naya drowned, Vidarr was said to be so brokenhearted that he flew north, and no one has seen or heard of him since. He was the last of his kind."
A few minutes later, we start our trek back through the forest in silence. Even though the idea of a rare black dragon with purple fire damn near excites every bone in my body, I have so many thoughts and questions running amuck in my head right now and I'm not sure which one to focus on first. Midori used to have magic wielders. Midori used to have sand dragons. Then in the span of one conversation turned argument, it all ceased to exist in our kingdom.
Sadness brews within me. All those years my parents warned me of the evils of magic. All those years they told me repeatedly that dragons were never real, they were merely figments of storytellers' imaginations. All those years of lies upon lies and for what? To discover that magic flows through my veins? To realize the Tronovians aren't some evil overlords seeking to feast on our bones and drain our bodies of all our blood? To learn dragons were, and might still be, real and had my father not run them out of our kingdom, we might still have them?
My eyes widen when I start connecting some mental dots in my head. I look at Atlas and he meets my confused gaze with a quizzical one of his own.
"So, dragons are the ones who choose their riders?" I ask.
"Most of them," he bobs his head.
"Do they have to be of royal blood?"
"No. Fire Breathers, Sand Dragons, Sea Dragons, Cave Dragons and Pixie Dragons would choose the wielder they deemed worthy of their partnership. The Frost Elves are the only ones who don't adhere to this tradition. They give every newborn with a drop of royal blood their own dragon because civilian Frost Elves do not have magical abilities."
"But what if the royal doesn't possess frost magic?" I push a branch out of my path, but keep my eyes fixed on Atlas.
"So far, there hasn't been anyone born in House Basilius that hasn't had magic. They are a proud and powerful family and if the Frost King has anything to say about it, he will do everything in his power to keep House Basilius that way."
"So, the Sand Dragons," I circle back to the Midorians. "They only chose those with sand or air magic, correct?"
He bobs his head as we leave the forest and reenter the Old Kingdom, now buzzing to life. "Correct."
"So, when General Naziri and his riders escaped, the magic wielders went with him."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Do you think my father feared General Naziri would try to come back and stage a coup? So, he outlawed magic in Midori?"
He rubs his hand against his jawline before meeting my stare and saying, "It would make sense. Magic in Midori was only illegalized after the Great War ended."
An unease settles in the pit of my stomach. I was afraid he was going to confirm my suspicions. When I think of my father, I think of a strong leader and a loving man. He never said one ill word to me, never raised an unkind hand to me, and certainly never treated me as if I wasn't his own flesh and blood. But hearing of his first years as a young king and how he allowed his fear and prejudice to dictate his actions sours me. I wish I could sit my parents down and just ask them point blank who I am, who they are, and more importantly, why they decided lying to me was the best route in our relationship.
Pressing my hand to my upset stomach, I push onward, not wanting Atlas to see how much all of this is affecting me. The rest of our walk home might be a quiet one, but my mind is as turbulent as a ship out in a storm. Every time I feel like I'm making progress at figuring things out, I take a huge step back when more questions pile on top of me. I have an eerie feeling that when I do know the entire truth about who I am, it might just break me.
I spend the rest of my day off relaxing. I had only intended to go for a light jog around the city, but the adventure Atlas took me on has me aching. It was worth it though, to see the dragon arena. It saddens me to think that magic was illegalized because my father was afraid. Granted, he was young and if I were in his position, I'm sure I'd be overthinking everything. But to order the execution of your general because he disagreed with your war tactics shows a lack of faith and understanding on my father's part.
I wonder if General Naziri and his magical warriors survived the desert. Even though I know it's highly possibly they all died, since the sand lands are treacherous, deep down in the pit of my stomach I know they survived. I have no proof and I have no real reason to believe they exist, but if anyone could thrive in those horrid and dangerous conditions, it would be sand dragons and their magic wielders. If I ever make it back to Midori, I would want to seek them out and try to mend the wounds my father is responsible for.
My mind then wanders to the sand and air wielders dwelling in the city at the time my father outlawed magic. Did he have them executed? Did he banish them? Did he march them into the desert and abandon them?
The thought that men, women and children were treated so cruelly by my father makes my skin crawl and ruins my relaxing bubble bath. I quickly hop out and dry myself off before dressing in some comfortable sweatpants and a loose tank. I don't plan to go anywhere else today and I'm relieved that I'll have the rowhouse to myself tonight.
