Dragon Rider

Prologue

It was an unexpected thing, death. I never knew it personally, but it came to my family on my birthday when I was young.

My mother had died that night in her sleep. The cause is still yet to be known, even now, on my 100th birthday.

Us riders live an average of five-hundred years, so I am just barely at the maturity of a young adult. My face is light and smooth and the wind catches my long brown hair as I grip the spine of Lyra, a great distance above the ground.

It has been so long since her death that even her dearest memories are seeping from my mind. Especially on days I need her most, she is nowhere to be found. My deep subconscious is the only haven for which the thought of her remains, and even there the difficulty of her remembrance is subtle.

Lyra and I set out at dawn towards where the land meets the water, in hopes of an arrival of morning light. Every year since her passing, the two of us make this quiet journey.

I look down at the belt tied to my riding pants to check once again if the small bag is still attached.

It is tradition of the riders to be burned at death rather than buried. It makes only sense that those who ride fire, burn from it. The dragons of the remaining family burn the rider and their dragon amongst the company of the entirety of the village in which they lived.

From their time of birth, a rider and dragon are linked through one another's souls and are bound until death. This allows them to not only communicate through the mind, but gives the rider much needed, powerful senses during flight. It is also known that a rider can live without it's dragon, yet the dragon cannot live without it's rider.

I use the connection with Lyra to smell the quickly approaching, salty waters. The greatness of her wings allowed us to travel in only a matter of hours to our destination. We swiftly reach down into the sand and I slide off the side of her body into the cool, damp sand on the shore. I kneel down, pressing my small fingers inches below the surface of the beach and look into the distance.

Above the water the sky bleeds orange and red as the sun pokes from it's great vastness.

Standing up and dusting the lost sands from my pants and dear-skinned vest, I take the few steps back to Lyra and hoist myself back up to her shoulders.

Are you ready young one?

Lyra looks back at me for reassurance before we take flight once again.

I nod and extending her wings, Lyra pulls us into the skies above the water. A short distance from the shore I reach towards my belt and untie the small bag. Opening it up, I pour it's contents into my rough hand.

"May your energy and spirit live on."

I let her ashes leave my fingertips and into the ocean.