Ava's eyes sparkled like polished moonstone as she cradled her new dragon, barely the size of a fat cat, in her arms.
"Look at her wings! Look—look—when she stretches them out, they glimmer like stardust!" she squealed, twirling in place. "Do you see this shimmer? I didn't think moonstone dragons were this gorgeous in person."
Her dragon, dainty and silver with faint crescent markings along its flanks, let out a high-pitched trill and flapped her wings in agreement. The glitter dust she kicked up followed in a soft spiral.
Across the chamber, Mercy was gently feeding her garnet dragon tiny slivers of meat from a paper pouch. "She's stunning, Ava. You're going to have sparkles in your hair for weeks."
Jenny held her newly hatched diamond dragon close but kept her voice measured. "The coat is unusually radiant for a moonstone. Likely second-bloom quality. Very refined."
"Yes," Bailey chimed in, stroking the fine neck of her peridot hatchling. "The Academy must've pulled from their best stock this season."
Ava beamed under the praise but didn't take her eyes off her hatchling.
Sorin stood a few paces away, his dragon perched on the floor beside him like a miniature gargoyle. The dragon blinked slowly, head turning toward each voice like it was weighing their value. Its wings were jagged and short. Its skin, darker than soot and etched with fault-line red. It had no glitter, no glow—just a low presence that rumbled beneath your ribs if you stood too close.
Mercy finally looked over and tilted her head. "Okay, technically that one's supposed to be a granite type, right? But doesn't it look like… weirdly cute? Like a rock with stubby arms. A rock you'd maybe let nap on your pillow if it didn't chew the corners."
Sorin flushed, half-laughing, half-unsure. "He's… growing on me."
"Like moss," Bailey muttered.
Tarin scoffed. "It's defective."
Everyone went quiet.
Tarin stood by her own sleek, coal-and-gold dragon—sharp, elegant, confident. "That egg wasn't even on the registry lists. You all saw it. Off to the side, half-buried like rubble. And now that—" she gestured dismissively at Sorin's dragon "—is supposed to be a bonded hatchling? Please."
Mercy frowned. "That's harsh. Not every dragon has to look like jewelry to be worth something."
"Oh, spare me, Mercy," Tarin said, her voice cutting clean. "You can all pretend to coo over a rock with legs, but don't lie about it. It doesn't belong here."
Ava stepped forward, her face flushed. "Tarin, stop it. You don't even know what type he is yet."
"I don't need to. Look at it."
Sorin looked down at his dragon. It met his gaze again—calm, unblinking, solid. Like it wasn't embarrassed in the slightest. Like it didn't care what they said.
But Sorin did. His cheeks burned. His fists clenched.
The instructor overseeing the bonding stepped forward, oblivious to the tension.
"All dragons will be assigned quarters within their House wings. Bonded students, please follow your house banners to the upper hall."
"Come on," Ava whispered, grabbing his arm.
Sorin didn't move at first. Then he looked at Tarin—her smirk, her eyes gleaming with superiority—and turned away without a word.
He followed Ava toward the House of Fire, where their new dorms awaited. His dragon padded quietly beside him, tail dragging, claws clicking faintly on the stone floor.
As they passed beneath the archway, Ava squeezed his hand.
"Hey," she said softly. "Don't listen to her. I think your dragon's awesome."
Sorin didn't reply, but he glanced down at the creature again.
The granite hatchling looked back up.
And winked.