Stormwing emerged from his cell, stretching his wings to their full span and shaking his head vigorously, sending a comical spray of morning dew and dragon drool splattering in all directions. The dragon's eyes fixed on Pryce, and he let out a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through the ground.

Stormwing padded toward him, his claws leaving slight indentations in the damp earth. As he approached, the dragon lowered his head and nuzzled Pryce's chest, nearly knocking him off balance.

Pryce laughed, the sound echoing across the quiet compound. "Easy there, big guy—I mean girl," he said, running his hand along Stormwing's neck. "You're not a little thing."

The dragon huffed, a puff of warm air ruffling Pryce's hair. Pryce grinned, scratching under Stormwing's chin. "Ready for some exploring, Storm? Who knows what we might find out here."

Stormwing's tail swished in response, and Pryce could feel the dragon's excitement. He set off toward the nearest outbuilding as Ash and Sky rushed past him. Skye chirped playfully as she fluttered around Ash, who was batting at her with his paw.

Pryce looked into the first structure, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior. Scattered about were ancient implements and discarded odds and ends. He realized some of these tools might prove useful down the line. As he scanned the cluttered space, peculiar instruments caught his attention. Their purpose eluded him. Could they have been crafted for dragon-related tasks? The possibility intrigued him as he continued his exploration.

As he approached the second structure, a large, tall shed, Pryce noticed Skye and Ash still trailing behind him. The gull hopped along, occasionally taking short flights, while the cat slinked through the tall grass. Pryce found himself chuckling at the comical sight of Stormwing's massive feet delicately navigating around the much smaller creatures, like a clumsy giant trying not to squash a village of tiny folk.

Pryce yanked on the corroded door handle, straining until it at last yielded with a resounding groan. Particles of dust danced in the beam of sunlight that penetrated the darkness within. He coughed, waving his palm to disperse the haze.

"Well, would you look at that."

Hanging from the ceiling beams, an old dragon saddle grabbed Pryce's attention, its leather worn and discolored but surprisingly whole. Foot supports swung from its edges, and a wide belly band hung underneath. Next to the saddle, a set of straps and bridles, all hooked onto sturdy iron pegs. Close by, he noticed a ragged saddle blanket, now thin and grimy. Pryce observed how the high-up storage would let a rider easily outfit a dragon without too much effort. The arrangement seemed to him both clever and oddly touching, a remnant of a time when humans and dragons soared through the air together.

"This is perfect. With a little work, I might be able to use this for you," Pryce shouted through the door to Stormwing.

As Pryce examined his find, a commotion outside caught his attention. He stepped out of the shed to see Skye perched on a fence post, dropping small pebbles onto Ash's head. The cat hissed in annoyance, swatting at the air.

Pryce chuckled as he watched Skye repeat the action, clearly enjoying the game. Ash's tail puffed up in irritation, and he let out a low growl.

"So that's why you two don't get along," Pryce said, shaking his head. "Skye, leave Ash alone. He's not your personal target practice."

The gull cocked its head, looking almost innocent, before dropping another pebble. This time, Ash darted away, seeking refuge under a nearby wheelbarrow.

Pryce's laughter was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned to see Old Man Finnegan making his way up the path, leaning heavily on his gnarled walking stick.

"Morning, lad," Finnegan called out. "I see you've been exploring."

Pryce had not noticed Finnegan dock with his fishing boat.

Pryce nodded, pointing at the saddle. "I think it might come in handy for Stormwing."

"Ah, that's a good find. But you'll need to fix it up before it's of any use." He gestured towards the barracks. "Come on, I've brought some supplies that might help with that book of yours, too."

"How did you know about Legends of Dragontide being torn apart?"

"Ah, lad, word has a way of traveling in these parts."

Inside, Finnegan produced a small pot of glue and a needle and thread from his satchel. Pryce spread out the torn pages of his book on the table, carefully aligning the edges.

As they worked to repair the book, Finnegan peered at the contents. "Interesting reading material you've got there, lad. This section here is 'How to Train Your Dragon,' eh?"

Pryce nodded, his fingers sticky with glue. "It's got all sorts of information. The early steps seem simple enough—establishing trust, basic commands, that sort of thing. But it gets pretty complicated when it comes to battle training."

"Aye, dragons aren't simple beasts. You've got to start slow, build a bond. Respect goes both ways with dragons." He paused, studying Pryce's face for a moment before adding, "Seems to me you've already got that part figured out, lad."

"You're right about Stormwing and me. We've developed a real connection. It's like we understand each other without words sometimes."

Finnegan put the lid back on the glue. "Best we start trainin' that dragon of yours before it develops some unsavory habits. You don't want Stormwing decidin' your bedroom's the perfect spot for a midday nap, or worse, usin' your boat as a chew toy."

Pryce couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image. "I hadn't even thought about that. Are there really dragons that do those things?"

"Oh, aye. Had a mate once whose dragon thought the village well was its personal bathtub. Took weeks to get the scales out." He paused, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard. "Dragons can be domesticated, to a degree, but they've got minds of their own. Like tryin' to reason with the sea itself sometimes."

Finnegan groaned as he stood. "Oh, speaking of which, I brought along a little somethin' that might help. Got me a barrel of silver trout in the boat—a favorite for storm dragons, if I recall correctly."

"Really? That's perfect! I read that storm dragons love silver trout." He reached into his pocket and fished out a Thornveil piece. "I want to pay you for the fish. This is some of the coin I got from Gavin."

Finnegan waved him off. "Keep your money, lad. This time it's on me."

Pryce thanked the old sailor. Finnegan's kindness touched him deeply, and he made a mental note to find a way to repay the old seaman's generosity someday.

Finnegan jerked his thumb toward the docks. "If you fetch that barrel from my boat, we can get started on some basic trainin'. This shoreline here'll do just fine for now."

Pryce squinted as he and Finnegan emerged into the bright morning sunlight. Stormwing came into view as they walked, and suddenly Ash zipped between their legs. Pryce heard Skye's familiar squawk overhead as the bird dove close to the cat, nearly grazing its ears.

Finnegan shook his head. "Ah, to see a cat and bird at odds. Reminds me of an old saying: 'When the gull chases the mouser, the fish swim free.'"

Pryce raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's actually a saying."

"It is now, lad.”

Eager to begin, Pryce grabbed the old wheelbarrow that Ash had hidden under earlier and jogged down to the dock where Finnegan's boat gently bobbed in the water. He stepped onto the deck, spotting the barrel near the stern. It was heavier than he expected, and he grunted with effort as he lifted it out and onto the rickety contraption.

"Need a hand there, lad?" Finnegan called out, amusement clear in his voice.

"No, no, I've got it," Pryce said, his voice strained as he awkwardly shuffled back down the dock, hoping the wobbly wheel would not give out. The pungent smell of fresh fish wafted up from the barrel, making his nose wrinkle.

Finnegan nodded approvingly as Pryce set the barrel down on the pebbly shore. "Right then," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's see what that dragon of yours can do."

Stormwing approached, his nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of fresh fish. Pryce reached into the bucket he'd brought, extracting a plump silver trout.

"Alright, girl," Pryce said. "Let's see what you can do."

He held the fish out, remembering the book's advice about clear commands. "Stormwing, come."

The dragon tilted her head, regarding Pryce with an almost amused expression. She took a single step forward, then stopped.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh? Come on, you know you want this tasty fish."

Stormwing's nostrils flared, and she inched closer, her long neck stretching out. Quick as lightning, she snatched the fish from Pryce's hand, tossing it into the air and catching it in her mouth with a satisfying crunch.

"Hey!" Pryce laughed, wiping his now-slimy hand on his trousers. "I didn't say 'eat' yet!"

Finnegan leaned against the fence. "Looks like you've got yourself a clever one there, lad. Might want to work on your timing."

Pryce nodded, reaching for another fish. "Alright, Stormwing. Let's try this again. Come . . . and stay."

This time, the dragon moved forward, her eyes locked on the prize. She stopped just short of Pryce, her breath warm on his face as she waited expectantly.

"Good girl." He tossed her the fish, which she caught easily. "See? We're getting somewhere already."

As Stormwing munched contentedly, Pryce turned to Finnegan. "The book mentioned flight training, but I guess that's a ways off, huh?"

The old man spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still leaning against the fence. "Aye, but don't you worry. With a bond like yours, you'll be soaring through the clouds before you know it. I reckon that beast can read your mind."

Pryce imagined himself and Stormwing gliding over Lake Dragontide, free as the wind itself. But for now, he had a stubborn, fish-loving dragon to train—and he couldn't have been happier about it.

Pryce continued the training throughout the day. Stormwing's progress was slow but steady, and Pryce found himself grinning every time the dragon responded correctly to a command.

Finnegan wandered back and forth along the shoreline, alternating between offering gruff advice and tinkering with an old fishing net. "Remember, lad, dragons are proud creatures. You've got to earn their respect, not demand it."

As the afternoon wore on, Finnegan busied himself with other tasks—repairing a loose plank on his boat, sharpening a collection of rusty hooks, and at one point, dozing off against a sun-warmed boulder. But his eyes always seemed to find their way back to Pryce and Stormwing.

"You're doing well, boy. Finnegan hobbled over, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "But remember, this is just the beginning. A dragon's not some pet you can train in a day."

Pryce wiped sweat from his brow. "I know. But we're making progress, right?"

Finnegan's wrinkled face cracked into a rare smile. "Aye, that you are. Now," he continued, glancing at the sun's position, "it's well past noonbell. That dragon of yours might have a bottomless pit for a stomach, but I'm famished. We'd best see to feeding ourselves."

Pryce felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as if someone was watching. He turned, scanning the treeline at the edge of the clearing.

There, partially hidden by the forest's shadows, stood a figure. A flowing cloak of midnight blue blended seamlessly with the darkness. It was a woman, tall and commanding, with long dark hair. Even from afar, her eyes seemed to bore right through Pryce.

The old man's gaze darted between Pryce and the treeline. "Pryce, we need to get inside. Now."

"Who is she?"

Finnegan's calloused hand clamped onto Pryce's forearm, yanking him toward the barracks with surprising strength. "That's Nymeria, queen of the Dragonkin Marauders. Vicious lot, those marauders—they'd sooner gut you than look at you."

Pryce stumbled as Finnegan dragged him along. "Dragonkin? I've heard mom and dad tell stories about them, but I thought they were creatures that existed only in far-off lands, beyond the edges of known maps."

"Aye, most folks do. Makes it easier to sleep at night. But they're as real as you and me, lad. And twice as dangerous."

Despite the old man's urgency, Pryce couldn't help but glance back. The spot where Nymeria had stood was empty, the shadows undisturbed as if she'd never been there.

"She's gone," Pryce said.

Finnegan grunted, maintaining his pace. "Don't let that fool you. Nymeria's like smoke—here one moment, gone the next. But make no mistake, boy. If she was watching us, she had a reason."