A flaming arrow shot through the window and landed on his chair.
“Hugh, get up!” yelled Fey. He tore Hugh’s jacket as he was pulling him onto his feet.
Hugh, a white haired, green eyed, short, fourteen year old boy, had fallen asleep in his leather jacket on an armchair after a long night of stories and legends. He looked at his older brother with fear in his eyes. “Who are they?” he asked, shaking himself awake.
“Guards of Athia,” Fey replied, putting on his mask.
The door burst open as the flames climbed up the wall.
“There they are!” yelled the captain. He pointed and yelled commands at the few soldiers behind him.
“What do they want—?”
“Just run!” Fey grabbed his little brother’s wrist and pulled him along. They ran out the back door, only to be surrounded by ten guards.
“Now we got you,” one of them said.
“No! Leave my boys alone!” Hugh’s dad yelled. His father swung a pitchfork and cut one of the guards in the face.
The guard touched the bleeding wound, then grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled the man into the sword.
“No!” Hugh yelled, launching himself at the guard. Before he could reach his father’s killer, though, Fey caught him, then breathed fire around them and carried him as they flew upward.
“No! Go back!” Hugh yelled.
Awhile later, after Hugh had been struggling and yelling for what felt like hours, Fey landed under a tree near the mountains and let him go.
“We have to go back!” Hugh yelled. “Mom could be killed!”
Fey showed no sign of sorrow or remorse. He sighed. “Hugh, mom’s dead.
Hugh was speechless. “Don’t you care they died?!” he yelled. “Why can’t you just show some emotion?!”
Fey didn’t answer, he never did. He strode over to the side of the mountain’s base and moved some weeds and some rocks, revealing a fissure big enough for Fey and Hugh to squeeze into. “Get in,” Fey said.
Hugh put his head down, then squeezed himself through the crack and into the darkness of a cave. Fey followed. Hugh felt a breeze of hot air that smelled like fire.
“Feogo,” said a deep voice in the dark.
“Uncle,” Fey replied. The boy breathed fire onto a hidden stack of wood, then handed one of the sticks to Hugh.
“Hugh, meet my uncle,” Fey said, gesturing to the huge dragon in front of them.
Hugh saw only what the light would give him, just the face. It was covered by silver scales and a nose and jaw that extended like a lion’s, and his eyes were silver in the left and purple in the right.
The dragon leaned its head over to the small spot where they’d entered in and breathed fire, melting it. “Come, I am sorry for your loss, young warrior,” he said in a deep clear voice. “The others have been waiting for you.”
Hugh followed Fey, who was following his uncle, down the paths and passage ways, deeper and deeper underground. Hours passed and they finally came to a stop at the entrance of a large cavern.
He couldn’t help himself. “Whoa.”
“It gets better,” said Fey, with just the slightest hint of a smile.
They traveled for another hour in the cavern until they came to a stop in front of the wall. Fey started to glow and a hidden door opened.
“No way,” Hugh said slowly. He took a step in and he saw dragons on walls made of giant crystals! After a while of just staring, he realized why Fey never told him of this place, because he would try to find it. “You aren’t just a Dragonborn, you’re their protector,” Hugh guessed.
A few days later, Hugh finally became used to being surrounded by dragons, and they got used to him.
“Hugh,” Fey said.
Hugh was petting an ice dragon that he’d become friends with. He looked up.
“I know,” Hugh replied. “But before you go, Chill needs to tell you something.” He turned to the ice dragon. “Tell him what you told me.”
“The hero will die,” Chill breathed.
Fey looked at Hugh and smiled for the first time in a month. It was a dark smile, but it was still a smile, and he was looking at the scales Chill had given to Hugh. “Farewell dragon rider.”
Then, he disappeared.