The sky over Drakaria was an endless ocean of blue, and for the first time in his life, Draculeus felt like he owned all of it.
"WHOOOOO-HOOOO!"
The roar echoed through the clouds, but it wasn't a sound of pain. It was pure, unadulterated joy. Draculeus snapped his wings shut, diving straight down like a falling sapphire star, before snapping them open at the last second to catch an upward draft. The force of the wind rippled across his midnight scales, cooling the internal fire that always simmered in his chest.
"Look at this, Old Fart! I AM FLYING! I'm dancing on the wind! I AM A… DRAGON! ROOOOAR!"
He twisted and looped through the air, wings slicing the sky with reckless delight. Below him, Percieval gripped the reins of his Wyrmwing so tightly his knuckles were white. The beast was sturdy, built for endurance, not aerial acrobatics, and each flap of its leathery wings thudded heavily against the wind, straining to keep up.
He watched Draculeus with a mix of awe and despair.
