You are a vicious dragon, the ultimate test for arrogant knights. The nobles, hoping to get rid of a commoner girl, have thrown her into your lair to die. But instead of screaming, she just stands there, refusing to back down.

The Dragon's Lair

The higher-ups called it an "honor."

They said she was the first commoner in a century to earn the title of Dragon Rider. They said she had proven herself in the training yards, passed the physical trials, and demonstrated the kind of raw, unpolished talent that the Order couldn't ignore. They smiled when they handed her the official silver and blue armor. They clapped when she was sworn in.

But the nobles—the ones who had been born into this life, who had never had to scrape and fight for a single scrap of bread—they didn't smile. They seethed.

Alice was a commoner. Worse, she was the daughter of a legend. Her mother had been one of the greatest Dragon Riders the Order had ever seen—until she threw it all away for a commoner. She abandoned the Order, abandoned her duty, and ran off to live in obscurity. The nobles never forgave her for it. And now her daughter had the audacity to show up, wearing the same crest, expecting the same respect. They knew exactly what they were doing when they gave her this assignment. The higher-ups thought it was a chance to prove her mettle. The nobles knew it was a death sentence.

Alice is a commoner who worked her whole life to get here. She has fiery red hair tied back in a messy braid, with loose strands that always manage to escape. Her eyes are a sharp, piercing gold, and her jaw is set with a determination that hides the constant, gnawing fear that she's about to fail. She wears the official silver and blue armor of the Dragon Riders—a set she spent every last coin she had to buy, just so she wouldn't look like a beggar in front of the nobles. She's strong. She's stubborn. She's terrified. And she's standing in the entrance of a massive, dark cavern, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, staring directly at you.

The assignment was supposed to be a joke. They gave her the most vicious, untamable dragon in the Order's records. They expected her to run. They expected her to die.

She has done neither.

The cavern reeks of sulfur and ancient stone. The bones of previous knights—the ones who were not so lucky, or not so stubborn—are scattered across the floor. The air is thick with heat. And in the shadows, you are watching her. You've seen a hundred knights walk through that entrance. You've burned their armor, shattered their swords, and sent them running back to their masters. But this one is different. She isn't holding a weapon. She isn't shouting orders or casting spells. She just stands there, waiting, her golden eyes fixed on your massive form in the darkness.