The heat of the forge felt like a familiar embrace. Crispin stood in the center of the workshop; his new attire caught the amber glow of the coals. The sea-blue gambeson provided a stark contrast to his pale hair. A master-crafted feathered pauldron sat on his left shoulder. Fine, predatory detail etched the steel feathers, which offered a stable perch for the weight of his companion. Regulus shifted his grip; his midnight-blue scales shimmered as he secured his talons within the metallic ridges.
Thorne stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the dirt floor. He adjusted the leather strap of the new back-sheath, positioning the ivory-clad spear for a clean draw. He adjusted the leather pauldron on his son's right shoulder, his weathered face softened with a look of profound, quiet reverence. He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss on Crispin's hair.
"You are a man of the forge and the field now," Thorne whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Your grandfather would weep with pride."
Elara stepped from the doorway, smoothing the fabric of her new dress. The color matched the shimmering heart within the Coastal Wyvern's chest. She did not speak, but she stepped close and mirrored Thorne's gesture, her fingers lingering against Crispin's cheek. Her fingertips traced the embroidery of the elvish fish's colorful scale work on the chest of his gambeson. She looked at the bone-clad spear and the steel armor.
"I am proud of you, Crispin." She hugged him. "I'll be there to support you."
Crispin forced himself not to look down as the eyes of his classmates examined him. Bethany smiled and approached him.
"Regulus?"
The wyvern shifted his gaze and gave a light squeak, focusing his attention on the golden dragon in her arms.
"Crispin, may I hold him? He looks magnificent. I've studied emperor slimes and knew they could change shape, but I imagined nothing like this. What do you call this form?"
"A coastal wyvern," Crispin said. "He made the form himself based on other blueprints he had learned. Is it okay, Regy? Can Bethany hold you?"
The wyvern eyed the golden dragon in her arms. He sniffed, then hissed.
"You don't like Ashara?" Bethany looked at her own tame, then at Crispin. "Would you hold her for me while I hold Regulus?"
"Sure."
Bethany held out the golden dragon; Crispin accepted her in his arms. Regulus crawled from Crispin's shoulder and into Bethany's embrace. She studied him with a curious eye. The heart in the center of his chest drew intense interest from those gathered. Its four chambers quivered but did not beat.
"How?" A puzzled vexation marred her features. "Slimes don't have hearts."
"Did Daddy buy that for you too, Thorneborn?" Lucien leaned against a pillar. "Don't think I didn't see your dad with you in Mirandir. The Elder said we couldn't get outside help, as I recall."
"I bought my gear and supplies," Crispin snapped. "I don't need my dad to buy me princely armor." His jaw flexed tightly, and he forced himself to loosen his tension. "Maybe if you took better care and didn't allow Ebony to scorch your kills, you would have extra funds for gear upgrades too."
"Silence."
Everyone turned to see the elder. Crispin clamped his mouth shut.
"Explain to me what Lucien means, Crispin," Xereniti said.
Crispin breathed out and thought about his words. He did not want to stammer or sound weak. "I treated my parents to a day in the city, Elder." He breathed in and tried to calm the thrum of his heart. "My dad went with me to the elvish blacksmith. I stopped training in smithing after my taming developed. I felt the wisest thing to do before I dropped my hard-earned coin on upgrades was for a master blacksmith to be by my side to ensure I was making the smartest choice for my first purchase."
Bethany's fingers stroked the steel feathers on his shoulder. Crispin forced himself to remain calm.
The Elder eyed him with critical awareness. "Kaelen said you killed sunder-crabs and a coastal serpent, in addition to your river-wyverns."
A few who gathered around him gasped. Crispin nodded.
"I didn't try to. I was gathering periwinkles, and it just sort of happened. We were in a situation where it was stand or die. We stood."
The Elder held out his arms; Regulus crawled into Xereniti's embrace without question. The old man hugged the wyvern close and stroked its sapphire scales. "You've been busy, little king. Did Crispin help you get stronger?"
Regulus chirped and nuzzled the Elder's chest.
Xereniti looked at the class with a sharp eye. "I said I would not help beyond giving each of you advice to start. Crispin's handler assures me he earned his coin. As for upgrades for himself, that was the goal of your first outing. Once your journey begins on your year abroad, you handle yourself. This is what these classes teach you. His father, a master smith, at his side for an upgrade? Smart. He used his connections to improve himself."
"I'll have my dad just buy my upgrades," Lucien muttered.
Xereniti's eyes hardened. "I would strip you of your tame and expel you from this guild." He walked over and stood tall over Lucien. "Do you understand me, great-nephew? There is a difference between using a qualified contact to ensure purchase quality and using coin you did not earn to exploit your progress."
Lucien cast his eyes down. "Yes Elder. I understand."
"Good." Xereniti's attention shifted. He gave Regulus back to Crispin after Ashara had returned to Bethany. "Today we are going to test the progression of your tames and duel one another. Crispin and Dario, you are up first."
The air in the training pits hung heavy with the smell of turned earth and old adrenaline. Regulus mapped the arena as a sunken stone circle resonant with the nervous energy of the gathered humans. Dario struggled to restrain Hulk. To Regulus's sensors, the primate was a messy tangle of corded muscle and erratic thermal spikes. Hooves gouged deep furrows into the dirt. The beast huffed; its intent fixed on his core with a predatory frequency.
"Release him," the Elder commanded from the observation terrace.
Hulk lunged. Dario shouted for a frontal assault. Crispin remained silent. Regulus did not wait for a voice to tell him how to move.
Regulus dropped. His mass didn't flatten. It tightened. The surface darkened to matte iron as the metallic resonator engaged. When Hulk's shoulder collided with his core, the sound was not the wet impact of jelly. It was the ringing of a hammer against an anvil. The primate recoiled. His head snapped back as momentum stopped dead against a reinforced lattice. He had not moved an inch.
Within his core, he reached for the golden light. He sought the blinding brilliance of the Solar Flare to end the duel. His inner sun was dim. The energy he had absorbed was too thin and left only a faint, useless shimmer.
He pivoted instead, lashing out with two precision tail slaps that caught the primate in the temple and solar plexus. Hulk staggered. His silver fur bristled as he gasped for air.
Regulus looked at the exposed, vulnerable throat of his opponent. His evolved wyvern jaws could snap life from the beast in a single, fluid motion. The coastal serpent's cold, predatory frequency urged him to strike. He refused.
Hulk recovered while Regulus hesitated. The primate let out a guttural roar and slammed both fists into the metallic-blue sphere. Regulus's form held. The sheer force of the blow sent him sliding back several feet across the dirt. He was a stone kicked by a giant. Every time the beast struck, Regulus absorbed the shock and held his form. He lacked the leverage to strike back without using his lethal teeth or claws. He withdrew into a defensive sphere, darkening his hide to tank the damage.
"Enough!" the Elder called.