As if one claimed, behold, the imperial household of the Aerendyl dynasty spread across an entire district of Aerthel, the cultural heart of the planet, like a city within a city.

  It was a labyrinth of palaces and mansions, bound together by ancient roads and courtyards, raised not merely for comfort but as a statement carved in stone. The architecture harkened back to the days of eld, preserved in a severe and lofty gothic style that had endured through countless centuries with little alteration. What few signs of modern craft existed were woven discreetly into the old bones of the district, seen in the steady illumination provided by a magitech grid hidden within walls and streets, or in the carefully integrated facilities that sustained the daily lives of those who dwelled there.

  Every imperial heir, whether a direct descendant or a distant offshoot of the bloodline, held land within the district by unquestioned right. This privilege was granted neither out of charity nor familial sentiment. Their ancestry alone carried such weight that the imperium itself bent around it.

  One such holding belonged to Princess Seralyth.

  Her residence was a dignified mansion, respectable in its size and bearing, though it stood in the long shadow of the Emperor's palace and the more favoured princes' estates. In the early years there had been no small commotion when Seralyth expressed a desire to alter its design toward something more modern. That wish had been met with firm and unified resistance. In the end, personal preference found no ground to stand upon when tradition demanded obedience.

  Ordinarily, the mansion rested in a state of quiet serenity that mirrored its owner's composed nature. On this day, however, a restless energy filled every chamber and corridor, a low hum of motion and purpose that displaced its usual calm.

  "Neural stabilisers, check," a measured voice announced within the main chambers. "Resonance regulators, check. Calibrate them accordingly."

  The bedchamber itself was traditional in design, save for the immense array occupying its center. Upon it stood a young woman, barefoot, her feet placed precisely upon etched sigils that glimmered faintly beneath her.

  Three attendants moved forward at the command. Their attire marked them as something uncommon, a careful fusion of imperial servant livery and magitech researcher garb. In their hands they held tablets powered by mana crystals, their eyes flicking rapidly across layered panes filled with shifting graphics, dense terminology, and precise numerical readouts.

  "Ninety-three percent, Your Highness," one of them reported. He was an older man who carried himself with the confidence of long experience, and he spoke without lifting his gaze from the device.

  "Good enough, I'd say."

  Within her body, Seralyth felt the implants respond. They pulsed several times with a faint yellow glow as analysis routines concluded, before settling into a steady pale blue that signified standby. Of the eight embedded devices, only one was visible, resting at the side of her neck beside her cascading grey hair, which flowed freely down her back and shoulders. The remaining seven were concealed beneath a form-fitting black bodysuit. Brass inlays traced its seams, joints, and upper torso, warming slightly as mana circulated through the system.

  "We have the data from the monitoring arrays, Your Highness," another attendant continued, a small frown tugging at his expression. "Mana flow and soul pressure are within acceptable ranges. Emotional variance is somewhat..."

  A quiet exhale escaped Seralyth's lips. She shook her head gently to interrupt him, sparing him further discomfort while he monitored her vitals. She knew perfectly well why her emotions were unsteady.

  'I'm still nervous.'

  She attempted to console herself with the thought, though she knew it was a weak defense. Comfort invited complacency, and complacency led to failure. Allowing the attendants to resume their medical and arcane checklist, she turned her attention inward, letting her thoughts drift toward the ceremony that would take place today, whether she wished it or not.

  'Be careful not to let the hatchling emotions overwhelm me. They may instinctively attempt to merge their soul with mine. I must be ready to prevent that.'

  For the twentieth time within the hour, she reviewed her mental notes step by step. Fear couldn't always be stopped, but preparation could blunt its edge.

  'If prevention fails, sever the empathic link immediately. Even then, I will have to endure sensory and emotional bleed-through. It is recommended to anchor the mind with core memories to reduce the risk of identity dissolution.'

  If only she had many of those.

  'Then confirm the bond with the hatchling.'

  Throughout this, the attendants worked in complete silence. The procedures had become second nature to them, performed with practiced precision. One of the monitors flickered oddly for a few seconds before correcting itself after a brief recalibration. On its display, the princess' emotional status returned to acceptable levels.

  "Your Highness, please."

  The bedchamber maid, who had been waiting aside during the examination, stepped forward. In her hands she carried a small ornamental crown wrought in silver. Large gems were set deeply into its circlet, mana crystals that caught the light and reflected a full spectrum of colors.

  Seralyth drew herself out of her thoughts at the call. She turned her gaze to the crown and nodded calmly, lowering her head so the maid could place it upon her. Jewellery held little appeal for her, but this was ceremony, and ceremony, as her father was fond of saying, sustained tradition in the hearts of the people.

  The mana crystals weren't mere decoration. Each bore intricate arrays designed to preserve the wearer's soul in the event of severe mental impact. It was a vital safeguard for the dangerous ritual that lay ahead.

  "Are we done?" Seralyth asked, letting her muscles finally relax.

  "Yes, Your Highness," the attendants and the maid replied together. They stepped back and bowed with synchronized restraint.

  "Then let him in."

  The maid bowed once more and departed. The seconds stretched, granting Seralyth time to breathe deeply until her breaths settled into steady, countable intervals. She gestured for the attendants to withdraw as well, preparing herself for the visitor. He was a wily fox, and even now she couldn't afford to lower her guard.

  "Your Highness. Pardon my intrusion."

  A middle-aged man entered the chamber, his brown hair and beard neatly trimmed, his attire ornate in the manner favored by the nation's aristocracy. He wore a smile of gentle reassurance, polished and practiced, yet it stirred apprehension in Seralyth's chest.

  "There is no need to worry, Lord Melvaine. How may I help you?"

  "It is how I may help you, my dear. Today is a momentous day, after all." He bowed smoothly, his respect carefully measured.

  "Lord Melvaine, you are the Imperial Magister. I would not dare accept such help. Your time would be better spent advising my father than indulging a foolish princess." She stepped aside, neither returning the bow nor acknowledging its implication.

  The gesture didn't trouble Cyrant Melvaine in the slightest. One of the most influential nobles on the planet, he laughed heartily, straightening as he clasped his hands before his stomach.

  "Then allow me only a few words. His Imperial Majesty will not begrudge me a moment."

  Seralyth considered briefly, though the outcome was already clear. To offend him over something so minor, and so close to departure, would be unwise. She inclined her head, granting permission.

  "My sole wish is that you understand how today's events may shape your life," he said. "As you know, the duty of supporting the hatchlings falls upon every citizen, noble and common alike. It is my responsibility to ensure that all candidates are in proper condition to accept this sacred charge."

  As he spoke, his gaze remained gentle, almost paternal. Seralyth held her posture rigid beneath it, allowing no hint of thought or feeling to escape through expression or breath.

  "And should matters not proceed as hoped, failure is not the end. Shame may follow, but the imperial family will shield you from unwelcome scrutiny. Not that I expect such an outcome. I look forward to witnessing your success and seeing you represent the imperium in its ventures across the cosmos."

  "I thank you for the counsel, Lord Melvaine," Seralyth replied, forcing a polite and distant smile. "I will keep it in my heart."

  "That is all I ask." He smiled with evident satisfaction. "In that case, I shall trouble you no further. I will observe the ceremony. May the First bless you."

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  "May it bless us all. Until then, my lord."

  She curtsied, watching as Cyrant nodded kindly and departed. Only when she was certain he had gone did she release the long breath she had been holding since his arrival. Puffing her cheeks, she rolled her neck and stared at the ceiling until the tension ebbed.

  "Insufferable man," she muttered.

  "Y-Your Highness?"

  Her maid returned at precisely the wrong moment.

  Seralyth pressed her lips into a thin smile, warmth creeping into her cheeks. It was fortunate that the attendant monitoring her emotions was no longer present.

  "Yes?" she replied, carefully steadying her voice.

  "The arrangements. F-For the departure. They are finalised."

  "Good. Let us go."

  'And get me out of here before I stumble over any more words.'

  ???

  A subtle weight, gentle yet inexorable, came down upon Seralyth’s shoulders, not as a hand might press with purpose, nor as a threat meant to warn, but simply as a thing that was there, existing in its own right, ancient and patient.

  It didn’t startle her, nor did she stiffen at its coming. Instead she closed her eyes for a brief moment, as one might when stepping into a strong wind, and adjusted herself to it. Ordinary folk, untrained and unready, would have found such a pressure unbearable, their breath shortened and their thoughts scattered. But soldiers, magi, and those who had prepared themselves for the trials of bonding knew the old disciplines, the ways of stance and breath and inner stillness, by which such burdens could be endured and, in time, scarcely noticed.

  Before her stood an enclosed hangar, vast and echoing, wrought to bear the weight and span of an immense battleship. Its arches were high and its supports thick, laid down with forethought and no small measure of pride. Yet it was not a battleship that rested within its shelter, nor had steel keels or cannon ports claimed this space.

  Instead there lay a form long and sinuous, like a great serpent at rest, its body fitting with uncanny precision into the hangar’s breadth and length. The builders had left careful gaps and open spans where needed, shaped especially for the pair of ethereal, flaring membranes that flowed from its shoulders and along its spine. These were wings only in part, for they spilled outward as long, translucent sheets of light, pale and shifting, refracting the ambient glow of the hangar into soft colours that played upon the walls. Its scales, once lustrous, bore the marks of many years, they were nicked and scarred, dulled here and there, as any living being might be who had endured long service and too many seasons beneath harsh skies.

  Though it had long since been retired from active duty, the dragon was a majestic sight all the same. There was a quiet dignity about it, a sense of slumbering strength held in reserve. And yet, across a broad platform, men and women boarded it as a matter of routine, walking its flanks and entryways without pause or reverence. A commoner, unaccustomed to such wonders, might have halted in confusion or awe at the sight, but those descended from the imperial lineage had grown up with such marvels, and found nothing strange in them.

  Seralyth joined the slow-moving flow of passengers, offering curt nods to those who noticed her presence and returned the gesture. On another day she might have lingered, exchanged a few words, or endured polite conversation, but this morning she wished to keep her thoughts to herself, to gather them close and conserve her attention. As she had expected, several of the other candidates felt much the same, standing in silence and waiting for their turn to board, each displaying their own measure of composure, or lack thereof.

  The process was a tedious one, drawn out by dozens of safety protocols, each enacted with careful precision. Every measure was taken to ensure that the passengers could withstand the pressure within, and that none would accidentally resonate with the dragon’s inner workings. Such a mishap would be disastrous, for the pilot above all, to have foreign souls trespass upon his bond, even for the briefest moment.

  Time slipped past almost unnoticed. Seralyth advanced a few steps, halted, then moved again as the queues crept forward. The entire morning wore on in this fashion until, at last, she found herself standing before the entrance itself.

  She stepped through plates of scale that served as pressure bulkheads, their surfaces cool and faintly alive beneath her touch. By long habit, she let her fingers brush along damp, hollowed bones that supported the magitech structure, feeling the subtle give and resilience of them. Within, the interior differed little from that of a modern building, if one could set aside the knowledge that behind the pristine white walls and steady floors there lay flesh and bone rather than stone and steel.

  Moving quietly, she made her way to a door and tapped at an interface to summon an elevator. Beneath the familiar appearance of panels and lights, veins, readjusted and repurposed, carried mana through a biological circuit, allowing the whole vast facility to remain operational without pause or rest.

  The elevator arrived, and without any discomfort at the thought of being enclosed within a living being, Seralyth stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor, the passengers’ section. It was appointed with a certain restrained luxury, seats and tables arranged not like a cargo bay, but more like a communal hall where people might gather and wait.

  Several candidates were already present. There were distant cousins and uncles among them, names she resented having been forced to memorise. Countess Vaelithra was there, a woman of roughly thirty years, known for her beauty and her calculated charm, her impatience evident in the way she shifted and glanced about. Nearby sat a boy named Caelren, the son of some far-flung uncle whose habits of gambling and debt were infamous, the boy’s nervousness showed plainly in his hands, which trembled despite his efforts to still them.

  Seralyth didn’t acknowledge any of them. She scanned the room and chose a spot somewhat removed from the others, where she might sit without being disturbed.

  It was not long before preparations were complete.

  Out in the hangar, the platforms were drawn away amid the blare of a heavy alarm that echoed from wall to wall. The dragon’s great body spasmed once, deeply, like a creature stirring from an afternoon nap. Its ethereal wings shook and flared, and within its vast frame specific organs went to work, not to push against the air, but to bend gravity itself, forcing it into submission through carefully maintained distortion fields. A gentle flicker ran along its length, and despite its enormous mass, it rose smoothly and calmly from its resting place.

  Within, the passengers’ section had been dampened against the thunderous rhythms of the dragon’s inner workings. Vibrations could still be felt through floor and seat, unavoidable but controlled, never enough to threaten the flight. Seralyth took up the noise dampeners set aside for the purpose and rested her head gently against the padded headrest. The subtle motion of the structure lulled her, and despite herself she felt a drowsiness creep in, tempting her towards sleep.

  Meanwhile, the dragon’s ascent made the hangar quake, its departure felt even through the reinforced walls. It climbed into the open skies, leaving behind the imperial district and the vast metropolis that sustained it, both falling away beneath its shadow as it rose.

  ???

  As the great conveyance drew nearer to its appointed resting place, a hush began to creep, step by careful step, through the chamber where the passengers were seated. It didn’t fall all at once, but gathered like evening mist, and within it breathed out the assuredness of some, the stiff confidence of others, the tight-held nervousness of many, and a whole host of lesser feelings besides, all sighing softly from the candidates as though the air itself had learned their moods.

  Meanwhile, Seralyth was… perplexed beyond measure.

  The bottle of clear water she had set upon the narrow table before her began, without warning or hand upon it, to rise into the air. She gave it a sharp, suspicious look and, for a heartbeat, supposed that some witless prank was being played at her expense, yet she tested the air and found no trace of mana’s telltale whisper anywhere about her, and so that notion was cast aside at once.

  ‘Something is wrong.’

  Small, insidious sensations crept into her thoughts then, like ants finding their way through unseen cracks, emotions that were not her own, nor born of her own heart. It felt as though she had been turned into a bare lattice for feelings, stripped of all filters and shutters. She bit her tongue, hard enough to taste blood, and by force of long-taught discipline she set about separating the clamour of alien emotion from what truly belonged to her, naming and sorting them as one might tools laid out on a bench. The pressure she felt didn’t seem to dwell in the air about her. No, it pressed from a single, definite source.

  “Ahhhhhhhh!”

  The scream tore through the chamber and wrenched Seralyth violently from her inward labour. Ill fortune had it that she had removed her ear accessory mid-flight, leaving her senses unshielded.

  “Stop! S-Stop! Make it stop!!!” A young girl had collapsed upon the floor, curling in on herself like a wounded animal, clutching her head as though to hold it together, tears streaming unchecked down her face.

  “Someone shut this kid up!” snarled a teenage boy nearby, his mouth twisted into a grimace of distress that hovered on the brink of outright panic.

  “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” A young woman, scarcely into full adulthood, muttered the curse over and over, striking her own brow with the flat of her palm in a wild, uneven rhythm, as though pain might drown pain.

  And there were others still who said nothing at all, keeping their lips pressed thin, their faces showing anything from deep discomfort, to faint irritation, to a practised indifference. Yet even among those, confusion lay plain in every pair of eyes.

  “Candidates of the 237th Bonding Ceremony, refrain from panic and remain in your seats.” At that moment a calm, measured feminine voice flowed from the speakers set along the chamber walls, steady as a bell heard across water.

  “What you are experiencing is the passive influence of the First Bond. This influence also serves as a test. Should you judge yourselves incapable of enduring the pressure, do not leave the dragon. I repeat, do not leave the dragon. There is a substantial risk of death should you insist on participation regardless. A containment field will be established shortly after landing.”

  There followed murmurs, fresh cries, and the careless lifts of shoulders. The responses were as mixed as the company itself, yet beneath them all lay a shared astonishment at the sheer scale of what was being endured. Seralyth felt it keenly as well. She had expected the First Bond to be strange, certainly, but this was something else entirely…

  “That will be all. We shall be landing in ten minutes.”

  The speakers fell silent without flourish or farewell, leaving the chamber steeped in its peculiar, tightly leashed chaos. In the meantime, medical personnel entered the precinct, moving briskly among the seats. With wands and staves etched in careful craft, they cast 「Recovery」, and green arrays shimmered like living leaves about their tools, lending aid to those who could no longer withstand the influence. Such candidates were escorted from the chamber, and Seralyth supposed, without asking, that their trials had ended there.

  She didn’t look upon them with pity. Instead, she closed her eyes and turned inward once more, suppressing the reflexive tendrils of empathy that threatened to entangle her in their suffering and pull her from her own course.

  She felt herself like a small boat upon an unkind sea, rocking and pitching as the waves grew taller and more savage with every passing moment. It became a time in which the outer world was willingly forsaken, swept away by an unconscious current, while she held fast to her focus on the foreign pressure that pressed ever inward.

  The dragon touched down upon its destination, yet to her it felt only as though the waves had grown into full-born tsunamis, crashing again and again against the walls of her mind.

  The passengers disembarked one by one, but she perceived this only dimly, as through scattered shards of awareness.

  And yet.

  When she herself stepped outside, when she lifted her gaze and beheld mountains that were not mountains, valleys that were not valleys, an entire living ecology borne upon the back of a being that had not stirred for ages beyond count, all lying beneath the open sky,

  Seralyth looked up.

  She didn’t see even a fraction of it, not truly, but what she did see was enough.

  The First Bond stood unveiled before her.