8 Chapter Seven: The Chosen (Part I)

Aiden found comfort in the shadows of his mind.

Though as the years wore on, it began to grow murky.

Violent.

Fearful.

Lonely.

In his nightmares, he was falling. The ground under his feet disappeared as he was casted down into an abyss. Before him, he saw flashes against the wall of blurred faces. He saw great fires and dancing figures. He saw himself, a younger version, laughing with the carefreeness of naïvety. Had he once been such a blessing? A crowned prince amongst beasts. These thoughts often stirred his madness as he felt the edges of his mind brighten. Slowly, the white noise took over and he was no more. The monster that roared and destroyed everything rampaged. In his true form, no coherent thoughts could be made. It was why he never shifted. Scared and shaken by the thought of losing himself, Aiden screamed out in frustration. It happened again.

He closed his eyes allowing his body to drift. It wouldn't be so bad to let his instincts take over. Aiden would not have to fight himself every day to hold on to some level of decency. Never had he felt so numb.

Warmth spread through his snout causing him to huff in shock. The warmth caressed him making his scales coil. His core was seething as steam rose around him. Aiden knew better than to enjoy this, but he leaned into the touch longing for more. Unable to see the source, Aiden heard a voice call out to him from afar.

"You're going to be just fine. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you again. I am right here."

Humans don't make promises. Humans don't keep them either. Aiden was amused by the wording. Most humans spoke as if they were saviors, taking the dragon's pain away. This human voice didn't sound human.

Humans lied. Humans screamed. Humans cursed.

Humans broke bones. Humans burned scales. Humans cut their horns. Humans electrified them and tortured them

They never promised security.

The voice was far too benevolent to be of the same breed as the humans that stripped him of his will to live.

When the voice disappears, he grunts in displeasure. The lull of the tone is like a lullaby and he doesn't want to wake up to find it is all in his head. The touch remains a steady source of comfort- it is like a guide leading him away from the white stained walls that threaten to entrap him.

Aiden fights the urge to lash out. Instead, he pushes his snout further into the warmth trying to absorb it all. As his body grows heavier, a wave of tiredness washes over him. Struggling against the weight of sleep invading his senses, Aiden realizes he is no longer falling. Dreams don't come to eat him alive and nightmares don't drag him into madness. For the first time in what feels like eternity, he sleeps.

"I forbid it." Farse flatly states, shutting down any further arguments. He places his hands firmly on his hips as they watch the handlers place a whimpering Fatima and an unconscious Aiden in the metal crates for transport.

Mr. S smiles gingerly as he licks his thumb before reveling in the stack of money he has been handed.

Cyan promptly ignores his superior, irritated by the whole process. He stares at the black ticket in his hand. Black-tier dragons were not usually adopted and often their parts auctioned off. However, there were no rules against buying the dragon whole (dead or alive) as long as the bid was high enough. Since they were here first and the dragon had yet to be announced, Cyan put a bid on it and Mr. S happily obliged making a quick buck.

"A private auction." Mr. S supplied as he passed Cyan a clip board of adoption papers fill out. Farse sneered at the man. Mr. S only smiled like a child walking into a candy store for the first time. His empty compliments rewarded Cyan's choices as he sat the young man down in an empty chair in the hall and gave him the auction slip.

Since it was just them, Mr. S read off the initial price and Cyan paid for the dragon holding up his black card.

"Ah, he's worth the same price as a buggy." Royce commented over Cyan's shoulder. Farse leaned against the door frame watching the handlers professionally pack the dragons up occasional rubbing his ears at the sudden clanks of metal being pushed around.

Cyan was actually shocked by this, but as a black tier, the dragon was a liability enough and Mr. S didn't mind making a quick buck. The military would reimburse him later.

"A fine challenge for a solider. No one has ever taken up a black-tier before and I can tell you'll be the one to do it. Imagine how proud he will be riding into the rages of war on a mighty beast deemed untamable."

Mr. S sighs staring off with a dazed face. Cyan jumps as his heavy hands clasp him on the back a bit too eagerly. Shaking off his mighty grip, he goes back to reading over his auction papers. The fine print is small but he sees the sentence that makes his pen hover over the signature line.

"No refunds?"

Mr. S practically glowed feigning complete innocence. Bowing his head, he let out an exaggerated sigh.

"It's an auction so no take-backs. And it's a black tier so no take-backs. If ya can't break it or train it, kill it. Heck, as difficult as that one is, I would suggest a good strangling." He shrugged off.

The young man paled which didn't go unnoticed by Farse who smirked at the boy's break in character. Leaning in, he whispered into his ear with wicked amusement,

"Having second thoughts, soldier?"

Cyan swallowed thickly glancing down at his name. He felt as if he was signing his soul away. The whispers of the devil in his ear challenging him. It wasn't too late to he his money back and pick out another dragon. He had seen a northern dragon somewhere with a pretty good track record. He tapped the tip of the pen against the paper where only his first name was written.

Cyan didn't owe the dragon anything. The throbbing of his arm was proof enough that it was not going to be an easy task of training it. He was also had to think about his neighbor, Thaddeus. Cyan was sure he wouldn't take too kindly to finding one of his friends featured on the front of the morning papers: death by a dragon attack.

He bit his lip hard trying to think.

This was more than a contract.

He was, indeed, bound to this creature.

If he signed and that dragon killed him or any civilian, it would be on his head. Even in death, his failure would follow him to his grave. His family's reputation would be ruined as well and his father would curse his name.

His father would curse him now if he knew what his son had done.

Dragon blood was now on his hands and his alone, should it prove too difficult to train.

Cyan wasn't an idiot. He could tell that there was some madness in its eyes. Dragons kept too long in captivity are often susceptible to it (especially if they've been in extremely bad conditions). The single black brand staining the plains of ashen skin could not be hidden as the handlers packed the serpentine up. It was a fighter. It was a survivor. Taking in the scars, the branding, the aggression, Cyan could just leave now, go back home, marry Sorah and live a fulfilling life.

He could forget the army and take over his father's reign. It was not too late.

In another life, he may have just done that if it weren't for the lone whine he hears coming from its crate. Curled up with its tail wrapped around its body, he watches it reach out for something. Being loaded onto the trolley, the cage is just about eye level to him now.

Cyan frowns before he steps up to the bars. He places a small hand onto his snout and the dragon nudges its large head against it. The twitching of its sweaty body relaxes and the pained murmurs die down. In its sleep, it is as docile as a child being coaxed by its mother. Gentle, sleep-lidded eyes lazily remain close.

Something in Cyan breaks.

Maybe in another life, he would have just left it to die. Yet, it had reached out for him. Searched for him for comfort and protection.

'I did promise to protect you.' Cyan thinks.

How such a proud and legendary creature could resort to such a pitiful state beat down like a dog and set out to death. As a doctor, if he allowed it to die, how could he ever look into a soldier's eyes without at least trying to save them? It is not in his nature to turn a blind eye away from an ill patient even if the ill patient wasn't human and could kill him with a single swipe of its claws.

Something in him already decided it can be no other dragon but this one.

It was no different than his brother: wild, violent and striking out against the world. Harboring so much pain and self-hatred because neither of them could change their situations. Cyan shook his head at this thought. Maybe he was a masochist glutton for punishment, though he would like to think he was helping them. Even if they didn't want to be helped.

So, he signs his name.

Farse snatches the clipboard from his hand before shoving it into Mr. S' chest. The lieutenant knew the boy wouldn't have backed down. Sometimes, it wasn't the human that chose the dragon, but the dragon that chose the human. He could already see fate and its sticky red lace binding the two souls together by the finger. As tainted and darken as the creature was, who was he to interfere with the universe.

"Don't come crying to me when he bites your hand off tomorrow." His words stung like poison with a hint of amusement in them.

His last words before the handlers use the trolley to lift the kennels into the car and chain them up.

With a snap of his fingers, Farse slides a pair of shades over his eyes and nods his head muttering to himself leaving the two recruits starry-eyed and resigned.