Talia ran her hand along the gryphon's neck, her voice calm and instructive. "Notice how it responds not to force, but to guidance. Patience and respect—they're what allow a bond to thrive."
Elara's drake nudged her again, and she laughed softly. "And a little understanding of your companion's nature. They're powerful, yes, but never forget—they are living, thinking beings, not tools."
Anna leaned forward slightly, eyes glued to her sisters and their beasts. The energy in the hall was thick with awe, the first-years clearly riveted by the demonstration.
Talia shifted her stance, her hand sweeping gracefully through the air. The silver gryphon responded instantly, crouching slightly before launching into a powerful leap. With a practiced motion, Talia mounted its back, settling perfectly as the wings spread wide. The gryphon lifted into the air with a strong, even beat, carrying her smoothly above the astonished first-years.
Elara mirrored the movement, the crimson drake unfurling its massive wings and kicking off the ground with a burst of energy. She leapt onto its back, a firm hand gripping a scaled ridge for balance. Together, they soared into the air, twisting and banking with fluid precision. Sparks of magical energy traced the path of their flight, a dazzling display of skill, trust, and harmony.
The students below pressed against the edges of the viewing area, eyes wide and mouths agape. Whispers turned into excited chatter. "They're… flying on their creatures!" "How do they do that?" "It's incredible!"
Anna's hands curled into fists of excitement, her pulse quickening in rhythm with the resonance of the dragon egg inside her. Her sisters moved as if the creatures were extensions of themselves—the gryphon's feathers and the drake's scales gleaming in the hall's light, their maneuvers precise yet seemingly effortless.
Talia dipped low, skimming close to the ground, before pulling up sharply into a wide arc. Elara responded with a playful loop, the drake twisting mid-air in perfect synchronization with her motion. Their laughter carried faintly, riding the currents of wind their creatures stirred.
Professor Harken's eyes glimmered with approval, though he remained at the back, letting the demonstration unfold naturally. "Notice the communication, class," he called out. "This is what true bonding looks like: trust, empathy, and instinct refined through practice."
Talia and Elara climbed higher and higher, the hall shrinking beneath them as the sunlight streaming through the arched windows glinted off feathers and scales. The first-years craned their necks, mouths agape, unable to comprehend the audacity and skill of the sisters.
Then, in a daring move, Talia let go, falling freely with her eyes closed, trusting entirely in her bond. Elara followed immediately, her crimson drake vanishing into its own shadow as she dropped, leaving an eerie stillness in the air. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the students, some fearing the worst.
At the very last heartbeat, Talia's voice rang out, clear and commanding. "Now, my friend!" The gryphon shot downward in a streak of silver lightning, wings tucked tight, claws extended, catching her with flawless precision and rocketing her back upward.
Elara's call was almost a whisper, but the drake responded instantly. Its massive shadow folded around her like a cloak, swallowing her from sight, and then—just as suddenly—she reappeared, riding the drake as it unfurled and soared back into the open sky, wings slicing through the air.
The first-years collectively gasped, some tumbling backward from the sheer thrill, others frozen in awe. Sparks of magical energy trailed in their wake as the sisters and their creatures rose in a synchronized arc, their maneuvers precise and utterly fearless.
Anna's hands clenched in excitement, the resonance inside her thrumming in response. Her pulse mirrored the electric anticipation of the display—her sisters weren't just skilled; they were a living testament to what it meant to be truly bonded with magic and creature alike.
Professor Harken's voice cut through the charged silence. "This… this is mastery. Remember it. This is the level you aspire to, and the standard by which true bonds are measured."
Talia and Elara touched down gracefully, their creatures folding their wings with practiced ease. The ground shook slightly from the gryphon's landing, while the drake's tail whipped the air as it settled beside Elara.
The first-years surged forward, crowding around, voices overlapping in a whirlwind of questions. "How do you do that?" "How long did it take to bond?" "Can we try now?"
Amid the chaos, Anna quietly stepped forward, drawn by an almost magnetic pull. Her heartbeat thrummed in tune with the faint pulse of resonance still humming through her veins. She approached the gryphon and drake cautiously, her small hand outstretched instinctively.
The creatures' eyes widened—silver and crimson glints reflecting pure recognition. Their heads turned toward each other, a flicker of communication passing between them, before their gaze shifted fully to Anna.
Then, in a display that sent a ripple of awe through the crowd, the gryphon lowered its massive head, and the drake dipped in perfect unison, bowing to her as if acknowledging a sovereign. Their wings tucked in slightly, their posture reverent and deliberate, like knights paying respects to a queen.
Anna froze, stunned. Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn't called to them, hadn't tried to assert herself. Yet the bond—whatever mysterious connection it was—had already recognized her.
Talia's jaw dropped slightly, and even Elara blinked in astonishment. "That… that's not supposed to happen," Talia muttered under her breath.
The gryphon and drake exchanged another glance, then their heads dipped slightly again, bowing to her with the same unmistakable respect. The first-years fell silent, the only sound the faint shimmer of residual magic vibrating in the air.
Anna's voice was soft, almost hesitant, carrying over the quieting murmurs of the crowd. "I… I don't know why you're bowing," she said gently, her fingers still hovering near the gryphon's silver feathers and the drake's crimson scales. "You don't have to do that. I just… I just want to be friends with you. That's all. You don't need to bow."
The gryphon's golden eyes tilted slightly, studying her with an intensity that made her heartbeat quicken. Its massive head lifted slowly, the deep reverence in its posture relaxing bit by bit.
The drake mirrored the movement, the crimson scales along its spine flickering with a softer light. Its bow became a subtle nod, a recognition rather than a formal gesture.
Anna exhaled quietly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Friends," she repeated, more firmly this time, reaching out to gently touch the gryphon's beak and the drake's snout. A faint hum of warmth ran through her fingers as the creatures responded, nudging her hand softly with a strange, deliberate gentleness.
Talia and Elara, still standing nearby, exchanged glances—astonishment mingling with quiet pride. Even the first-years had stopped talking, eyes wide as they witnessed the unusual but unmistakable bond forming before them.
Anna whispered again, this time almost to herself, "I promise… we'll be friends. No more bowing, okay?"
The gryphon rumbled softly, a sound almost like approval, while the drake's wings shifted slightly, curling protectively but without the former formality. The unspoken communication between them and Anna was clear: respect had not disappeared, but it had become something shared, mutual, and far gentler than before.
Professor Harken's voice cut through the quiet hum of astonished whispers, calm yet carrying a weight that drew everyone's attention back to him. "Well done, Anna," he said, his eyes sweeping over the young princess and the two creatures now calm at her side. "As expected of a Crestwood. You're clearly taking after your sisters."
A ripple of murmurs ran through the first-years—some impressed, others in awe, and a few still wide-eyed at the unusual bond unfolding before them.
Anna's cheeks warmed at the praise, her small smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at the professor. The gryphon and the drake remained attentive beside her, as if sensing the shift in her confidence.
Professor Harken continued, voice steady but encouraging: "A Crestwood's skill is not just in power or control, but in understanding and harmony with their bond. Today, you've shown that same patience and intuition. Remember this example—it is far more valuable than sheer force."
Anna nodded earnestly, reaching out once more to gently touch the creatures. The faint warmth thrumming from the dragon egg inside her seemed to pulse in harmony with the calm, steady rhythm of the gryphon and drake.
Talia and Elara exchanged a proud glance, their smiles quiet but full of pride. Even amidst the attention of the first-years, the sisters' presence was a reassurance—a silent acknowledgment that Anna was beginning to find her place.
The murmurs among the first-years swelled as Baxter Gillard stepped forward, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. "So," he drawled, voice loud enough to cut through the chatter, "it seems those impressive displays aren't really about you, princess. Those bonds of theirs?" He gestured toward the gryphon and the drake at Anna's side. "They only act like that because you're around them. They belong to your sisters. That's why they bowed—they recognize family."
A ripple of whispers spread through the hall. "Did she say sisters?" "Wait… they're sisters?" "No wonder the bonds respect her…" The students exchanged astonished glances, murmuring excitedly.
Anna's eyes narrowed, a mixture of irritation and curiosity flashing across her face, but before she could reply, Baxter's smirk widened. He extended both hands, and from the shadows of the hall, a massive serpent coiled itself into view, its scales glittering with a faint magical aura. Its eyes glowed with a deep, mesmerizing light.
"This," Baxter said, voice dripping with arrogance, "is my bond. Now let's see if you can tame it."
He gave a sharp flick of his wrist, and the serpent surged forward, slithering toward Anna with astonishing speed, its hissing echoing through the hall. The students around them gasped and scattered slightly, keeping a safe distance.
Anna froze, her legs firm beneath her, but she didn't panic. A strange warmth pulsed through her chest, not from fear but from a deep, resonant feeling—a soft, insistent hum that told her exactly what to do. Don't move. Don't look away.
Her hands stayed at her sides, her posture steady. She met the serpent's glowing eyes without flinching, letting the connection form naturally. Around her, the gryphon and drake shifted slightly, wings tensing, as if they too sensed the unfolding bond.
Professor Harken and Talia opened their mouths to intervene, but before anyone could move, the serpent faltered mid-surge. Its body stiffened, eyes locked on Anna, pupils narrowing in fascination rather than aggression. The hiss that had echoed moments ago softened into a quiet, questioning sigh.
Baxter's jaw tightened, but he hesitated as he realized the serpent had stopped entirely, hovering inches from Anna. The classroom fell silent, every student holding their breath.
Slowly, deliberately, the serpent lowered its massive head toward Anna's feet. The scales gleamed with a soft light as it bent in a silent, reverent bow, defying its master's expectant glare. Anna's heartbeat quickened, a mixture of wonder and disbelief coursing through her.
The gryphon ruffled its feathers, and the drake flexed its wings, both watching the scene with quiet approval. Even Baxter, face pale and jaw tight, had nothing to say—the bond had chosen, and it had chosen Anna.
Anna reached out slowly, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered above the serpent's glistening scales. The massive creature stayed perfectly still, its eyes locked on hers, pulsating with a quiet, intelligent awareness. With a deep breath, she laid her hand against its head, feeling the subtle warmth and the faint thrum of its magical energy.
Baxter barked sharply, his voice laced with panic and anger. "No! Don't listen to her! Listen to me!" He slammed his hands against the air as if he could command the serpent by sheer force of will.
But the serpent did not move, did not flinch. Its eyes lingered on Anna, and a deep, almost imperceptible purr-like vibration resonated from its throat as her hand stroked along the smooth scales. Every instinct it had seemed to submit entirely to her presence.
Anna's voice was soft, calm, almost a whisper. "It's okay… I'm your friend. You don't have to obey anyone else but yourself."
The serpent shifted slightly, pressing its massive head closer to her hand, letting her fingers trace the ridges along its skull. Baxter's protests grew more frantic, but the creature ignored him completely, fully acknowledging Anna as its new anchor.
Around the hall, students murmured in disbelief. The gryphon and drake moved a little closer, wings half-raised as if in approval. Anna's pulse quickened—not from fear, but from a growing connection she could feel threading through her very being.
In the far corner of the Taming Hall, partially obscured by the thick trunk of an ancient training tree, a figure sat quietly, motionless except for the careful movements of a pen across a worn leather journal. The woman was cloaked entirely in black, her face hidden beneath a hood that swallowed any hint of light. Every line she wrote was precise, meticulous, capturing the movements, the stances, the reactions of every creature—and every student—in the hall.
Her sharp eyes, the only part of her visible, flicked repeatedly to Anna as the girl's hands rested on the serpent's head. There, just for a fraction of a heartbeat, she noticed something subtle and extraordinary: a faint stream of golden mana weaving from the gryphon and the drake into Anna's veins. Only she seemed to perceive it, a delicate current of energy threading between bonds, invisible to the rest of the students and instructors alike.
She scribbled furiously, not daring to look away for longer than necessary, committing every detail to memory—the way the serpent lowered its head, the way Anna's pulse seemed to hum in tandem with the other creatures, the way her presence seemed to command respect without a word.
When at last she leaned back, closing the journal with deliberate care, she remained silent, unobserved by the bustling students, the excited first-years, or the teacher. Without a sound, she slid toward the open side window, the folds of her black garments blending with the shadows. She paused briefly, one hand on the frame, surveying the hall one last time. Then, as silently as she had arrived, she vanished into the morning air, leaving nothing but the faint rustle of leaves to mark her passage.