Scorched Scales (ARK Fanfic)

Chapter 1 | Recruit

A hot breeze dusts my face with sand. We've been standing in our rows for hours.

I'm miserable. 

My hair droops in sweaty locks across my shoulders. I feel hot and damp. What were we even waiting for? The only thing keeping me from ditching the whole ordeal was my foresight to bring a few full waterskins with me.

Discontent mutters growl all around me. A few people had already given up and left.

My jerboa, Snow chitters on my shoulder. I named him after the tales we had been raised on. His coat was pearly white, just like the magical frozen rain that fell from the sky in the Old World.

But I recognize that specific chitter. A sandstorm was coming.

"They're here!" someone calls. My gaze jerked to the sky, where three silhouettes rocketed towards us.

The Wyvern-Riders are here. Finally. 

The fire wyvern and poison wyvern land first. I barely notice. My eyes are for the lightning wyvern alone.

Beautiful pale purple, the color of the flowers we gathered silk from, but lighter. Wings dark and stormy with pale lightning-streaks of intermediate color. Head-fins and spine the color of Snow's fur.

The wyvern flaps twice, hovering longer than the others and scattering loose sand across our feet. Then it drops the few fronds* to the ground, its hind legs touching down first and its wings crashing down like thunder.

The Wyri on the lightning wyvern slides off and walks toward us.

She's tall and lean, her arms and legs bulging with muscle. Her straight black hair whips across her tanned face.

"So these are our recruits from your colony?" She demands.

We nod uncomfortably.

"I suppose you all expected to get good grades, get recruited, and get handed a wyvern?" 

Some of the crowd murmur and mumble.

"News flash: That's not how it works. Look to the people on your left and right. Statistically, both of them will be gone when you finish your training and become a real Wyri instead of a Wyri recruit."

I inhale sharply. Several involuntary gasps sound around me.

"Now, everyone get out your maps. Mark the bottom left square."

Charcoal crunches on paper. I notice the black wall of a sandstorm approaching on the horizon out of the corner of my eye.

"Your goal is to get there from where we are right now. That's your initiation. Now strip down to your undergarments and drop everything you have on you."

Most of us oblige, though a few mumble, slump their shoulders, and trudge away.

I shiver with fear, anticipation and excitement as the hot air rolls over my naked skin.

"You can get there how ever you want. We'll patrol the area and rescue you if you're about to die. But if we have to rescue you, you'll be dropped off at your colony and forget any chance you had of being a Wyri. This is testing your survival abilities, along with testing your endurance, ingenuity, and some other key traits. You just have to get from here, to there on your own.

"I have two pieces of advice. Tame a jerboa if you haven't already. Make tents in advance."

I feel the first wisps of sand scratch my cheeks and bare shoulders as the sandstorm drew closer.

"So what are you waiting for? Go!"

*Fronds are a length of measurement used in this desert. They're roughly the length of a foot, or approximately one-third of a meter.