The Seventh Dragon House was a special sanctuary, reserved exclusively for the majestic Vaestros. Among them stood five awe-inspiring beasts, including Roderika's mighty Lainn.
"Take it easy, there's plenty more," Silva said with a soft chuckle, watching as Lancelot eagerly tore into a thick slice of roasted meat, its silver jaws glistening in the morning sun.
Ordinarily, such duties—feeding, grooming, maintaining nutrient balance, cleaning the stalls—were assigned to the dedicated grooms who worked full-time in the dragon stables. The Breeders, especially those of noble blood, were usually expected to focus solely on the scholarly and strategic aspects of raising dragons.
But Silva Steinert was different.
Ever since Lancelot had hatched from its Orphan egg, she had insisted on caring for it herself. Rain or shine, she visited the dragon house five times a day without fail. She would personally prepare its meals, scrub its scales clean with warm water and gentle hands, and even scratch its back with delicate precision whenever it showed signs of itching.
Under Silva's devoted care, Lancelot—born a Strada—had matured into a stunning Vaestro, its silver-white fur shimmering with an ethereal glow. Her dedication had been rewarded early; at the mere age of fourteen, Silva had already earned the prestigious title of Dragonborn.
That title, however, was just the beginning.
"No," she whispered, running her fingers through the silken fur on Lancelot's neck. "You and I… we're going to reach higher. Our next step is Ark-Dragonborn."
Her touch lingered, tender and full of silent resolve, as she leaned into the great beast and pressed her cheek against its warm flank. The dragon let out a low, satisfied growl, but kept its attention fixed on the slab of meat below.
Silva smiled fondly, but then her expression shifted. Her hand moved slowly to the center of her chest, where the mark of a true Breeder—the fang mark—was etched into her skin like a brand of destiny.
A sudden pulse of memory took her back to that day in Ald Forest, so many years ago. She had been only seven, yet brimming with reckless determination. She had snuck away from the palace, entering the ancient forest alone in hopes of finding an orphan egg. But instead of glory, she had found pain—an injured ankle, tears streaming down her face, and the creeping terror of failure.
And then… he appeared.
A boy with soft brown hair and defiant eyes. A boy who, just like her, had come for the Orphan Ceremony.
"I'll carry you. Let's find the Mother Dragon together."
That voice still echoed in her memory, like a lullaby she didn't want to forget. That boy had been her savior, her turning point. Without him, she might have never become a Dragonborn.
"I made a promise to you," she murmured aloud, as Lancelot tore another bite from the meat. "I'll become a true knight. If I ever stray, if I ever dishonor that path... then I want you to be the one to scold me."
Lancelot, of course, was far more concerned with licking the last scraps of gravy from the stone plate in front of it. It gave no reaction.
"Tch. You're such a child," Silva muttered, giving its head a gentle shove. Despite being a full-fledged Vaestro, Lancelot still had a long way to go compared to a veteran like Lainn. Even its body size was noticeably smaller.
As she turned away, wiping her hands on a cloth, her thoughts drifted unexpectedly toward him again.
Zack.
The only student who had ever dared to openly challenge Silva Steinert.
Their duel had ended in her favor, technically—but something about that victory had left a strange taste in her mouth. It hadn't felt like a win. If anything, she felt like he had allowed her to take the glory, like he had orchestrated the outcome from the shadows.
He had assisted her in the rider formation during the race, guiding her into the right position without seeking any recognition. He had read her, understood her strategy… even outmaneuvered her when she least expected.
And then there was that incident—him riding another person's Par. A feat so far outside the boundaries of known Breeder law that it still sent shivers down her spine.
"Zack... Blake," she whispered, biting her lower lip unconsciously. "Just what are you? Riding a dragon not your own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world…"
Her thoughts trailed off as she imagined him again—that unkempt hair, that annoyingly confident smirk, those stormy eyes that seemed to strip past her noble façade.
No… don't think about that. He's just a commoner. She shook her head.
Still… the heat that bloomed between her thighs as she imagined his hands gripping the reins of a dragon that wasn't his—it was an image she couldn't seem to erase.
Suddenly, a panicked cry tore her from her thoughts.
"A dragon's gone mad!"
The shout came from just outside the dragon house, and Silva's heart instantly jumped into high gear. She snatched her riding gloves from the hook by the door and dashed toward the exit.