Morgan Flannery, the Dragon Sorcerer's Daughter

Morgan Flannery had a secret, and not just any secret. She had a secret she, herself never even knew existed. You see, Morgan Flannery was perfectly fine ruling alongside dragons and everything about that was also perfectly fine until the day she turned sixteen when she stumbled across long-hidden family secret, the reason some of these dragons felt so familiar.

How could she have overlooked the clues? Morgan Flannery was a dragon and not just any dragon—she was a sorcerer’s dragon—able to turn herself into a gangly, lanky, monstrous beast at the drop of a hat—much to her dismay, of course. How could she be expected to tame such unruly beasts if she herself was one of them?

“Have you no worries,” Aunt Eileen’s comforting words settled into Morgan’s mind. "Everything will all work out. Over time you can hone these powers and use them to transform to and from your dragon. Don’t look at it like a hindrance, or a setback, look at it for what it is, a tool, a resource, a dream other’s wish they had. Not all dragons and their masters are such massive and wild creatures. You are made just as you should be, perfect.”

The skies above were turning putrid shades of green as the Kings arrows pierced the Earth, setting the Land of Lyrid ablaze. Morgan felt her skin crack, her own dragon's fire brewing just beneath the surface as she unleashed the beast within. Together she, along with the rest of the Lyrids would strike one final blow. Arcane blasts would meet their ethereal shields and the Dragon Sorcerer's would be victorious once and forever more.

“I should have kept a log of this, a journal, a diary of some sort,” Morgan Flannery hissed as the acrid, sour flavor of something metallic scorched her mouth, rendering it numb. She’d been experiencing this sharp, burning pain off-and-on, and with her sixteenth birthday quickly approaching she didn’t want to take any chances. Morgan Flannery couldn’t mess this up, not with the commencement of rites just a week away. She was nervous about what that ceremony had in store, no one in her household had mentioned a single thing about it. How was she going to prepare? What would she wear? Surely there would be some sort of dance, or initiation where she walked over fire, right?

Her mom Celia hadn’t been very helpful, insisting Morgan kept to herself and stayed in the main house for the entire month—as some sort of reprieve. As though this would help stave off her nervous energy. Neither her mom Celia, nor her father Rowan seemed to pay Morgan any mind. In fact, they were so busy preparing for the upcoming Dragon births, Morgan assumed everyone had forgotten about her birthday altogether. It didn’t help that another family member had passed away during the night—a beloved aunt, Eileen— whose death left Morgan unsure of her future, her past, or her history.

If only she had thought to keep track of all her family’s markings, scars, and powers, she wouldn’t be in this mess. But today, as it were, her ears burned hotter than ever and smoke appeared to waft around the air a fair bit more than normal— which was wholly distracting and rather unusual considering she hadn’t been around any other dragons for weeks.

Her parents had forbidden her from entering the taming quarters until after her birthday. Surely, she wouldn’t be missing her dragon babies this much, not enough to swear she was turning into a one herself. That couldn’t be. But, as it were, the longer Morgan lingered, the more questions she had—like if she unbraided her stout, rust-red colored hair, would it too catch fire the same way her ears had?

The Flannery home was eerily silent. So much so that it caused her to doubt her own sense of self, and that wasn’t like her at all, not one bit. For as long as she could remember, Morgan Flannery was the daughter of a wild sorceress, hailing from a long line of ample dragon tamers. She ruled with dragons, fought with them and lived amongst them—free and unbothered—until today. Things had become strange, off-kilter. Her entire world, changed. With each death, and each rebirth Morgan felt herself growing smaller. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Morgan was rarely at home. She preferred to be in the caves alongside dragons, which was her true place.

After all, what more could change upon her sixteenth birthday, and how could she not have met this dragon she was supposedly being gifted? She found these complexities quite odd. No strange, hooded wizards coming up from the Magistrate to pre-register her a dragon. No letters in the mail, or funnily dressed clerks waiting for her to step outside the Flannery home so they could ticket her for practicing underage magic— and so far, the only magic she was able to do was simple restoring charms—like decimoro totalis—which stopped time, pausing any spells, allowing the spellcaster time to move around or change tactics. Then there was her favorite spell— restoratus intimito—which dispelled any magical effects on a moving target—handy for any dragon or dragon tamer. Naturally, Morgan was only allowed to use those two spells and only in the caves.

There were so many rules—no magic after hours, no magic in the bathroom, or kitchen, no magic outside, in a pool, near a sprinkler, or under a bridge—unless they were in times of war, and even then, she wasn't sure what that meant, or what she would actually be able to do after she turned of age. Soon, there wouldn’t be any elders left to ask questions too. Magical recall and restoration charms only went so far and it wasn’t exactly the most reliable tool in their world—not with taming dragons.

There were far better spells out there but Morgan knew learning those could take ages. How would she know what to do? How was she expected to teach others and where would the “others” even come from? Besides, everyone knew magical recall was a fluke. So many dragon grifters had profited off the sorrow and grief of the broken-hearted. Morgan refused to be one of them, that was, until the morning of her birthday. A few gifts had been left at the foot of Morgan’s bed—a bowl of shimmering blue salt rocks— each the size of her hand, an oversized dragon’s egg—cracked but unhatched, and a small velveteen box which housed the family ring. A narrow silver band, tarnished by centuries of wear. A pair of sapphire and emerald eyes glowed from the center, meant to wrap around the wearers finger for safe-flight and long travels.

A note hastily read— “with these, you will remain unstoppable. Over time, you will know what to do next. All our love, mom and dad.”

“Psst….Psst….Pssttttt…” a low, familiar growl sounded from somewhere near Morgan’s feet. She awoke to find the bowl of salted blue rocks on fire. A slow burning blue flame darted up towards the canopy of her bed as it snapped, popped and hissed, begging for her attention.

“Wake up, Wake up, Wake up, Maggie May…It’s your Aunt, Eileen. I swear you better wake up before anyone hears me.”

Morgan grunted, still groggy from a heavy night’s sleep as she instinctively tossed a pillow towards her feet, only to register the faint, familiar sound of the voice she never thought she would hear again.

“Aunt Eileen?”

“Careful dearie, don’t want to catch your bedding on fire. Can’t have that happen on the biggest day of your life.”

Morgan’s ears buzzed louder, hotter as she scrambled closer to the glowing blue rocks in the bowl wondering what was so big and special about this day in particular.

“Your mom thought you would like to speak with me, thought it would help your transition over to the other side. It’s already beginning, so good thing I caught you before you started getting ready. There are a few things I need to tell you…”

Morgan swatted at a small bug, flicking it off her arm, completely unaware of the newly formed scales that dotted her otherwise pristine skin. It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror did she realize what changes had occurred.

“I’m supposed to be turning sixteen today, I can’t go outside looking like this…” Morgan screeched, her voice barely a rabid whisper. Her rust red hair had transformed into braided ridges dotting the whole of her back. Her soft skin was now peppered by silvery, green and gray angular scales, glowing brightly in the firelight. Her eyes were shades of fierce blue and sea green, their glow rivaling that of the fire from which her dead aunt had appeared just moments before.

“My dear, you aren’t turning anything, you are already sixteen, and this is what happens during the commencement of rites ceremony. Did no one tell you? We all go through this. Every one of us, we fall asleep fifteen and wake up in the heels of a dragon.” Morgan’s Aunt Eileen paused, shooting Morgan a weary, sympathetic look.

“Be happy you aren’t being reborn as a Shadow Lurker, you wouldn’t want to be only three feet tall for the rest of your life, now would you? Most of them can only float around the Haven Roots or the Anthurium plants and that can be quite boring and tedious if you ask me… Besides, fresh blood is coursing through those pretty veins of yours and I must say, you have turned out to be quite a beautiful dragon, beastly of course, but beautiful nonetheless. Oh, your mom and dad will be so proud when they see you.”

Morgan paused, a small smile forming on her otherwise flustered face as she turned to face her Aunt. Maybe things weren’t so bad after-all. Shadow Lurkers were dreadfully ugly things and they couldn’t fly very far. Lyrids on the other hand—the people from which Morgan and the Flannery’s hailed from—those were mighty dragon sorcerers from the north-northeast. Thriving folk who basked in the constellation rising, rousing opposition from grazing on lazy river beds and charming simple meadow-folk. They were better known for silently defending dawns and dusks from invading armies of creatures near and far. They trained for centuries and Morgan had proven herself a worthy adversary in all her short and small years.

“You will be fine, my dearest Maggie,” her Aunt Eileen whispered from just inside the confines of the still-roaring blue flame that sprouted up over the bowl of cooling salts. The flame had tempered some, growing softer and dimmer with each passing moment.

“You have to listen to me, my time here isn’t long, the enemy is growing upon us as we speak,” her Aunt Eileen continued, “I am going to recite the Dragon Sorcerer’s vow—and I need you to swear to me, and take the oath. Now, hold your right hand out, over the flame and put the Flannery ring on your pointer finger.”

Morgan followed the instructions without a moment’s pause. Her hand felt no pain. The flames were calming and magnetic, drawing her in.

“We are the best of every world, we are the blossoming dragons and tempered beasts. We guard over the lands, ruling fierce and mighty, swift, calm and headstrong. Meant to roam the farthest corners of Earth and the Highest expanse of Heavens. We will meet again. I promise, but for now, our kingdom needs you more than ever. These lands of the Lyrid are not safe anymore. A new King sits on the throne, relying on artificial magic to decimate our armies. We will stand shoulder to shoulder with every Lyrid far and wide. You have the power to be both fantastical and fearsome. You hold the ability to shift at will—to give our enemies the air of surprise. Many brave souls will falter but yours will not. You bleed your own lifeblood into magic, turning bravely to face the nothingness that is held beyond the abyss. Feel that magic seep from all your dying wounds and broken spirits. Your body is no longer a shell, it is a force. The enemy will try to strike now that you are a Neirran—a baby dragon, a beginningling. But they will have met their match. The next batch of rebirths are happening as we speak, they are stronger, braver, and deadlier than any other to have gone before. You will join that latest group of graduates as—Maggie the Fierce and your Dragon Calling is Airlantra, the Protector of Creatures and Champion of all Blue Skies. You summon her dragon sorcery from your own heart, bubbling up from the depths of your core. A blast of blue and yellow-green will wash over you and scales of fire and destiny will be born.”

Her Aunt had just completed the Dragon Sorcerer's Oath when the skies erupted around them. Blooming rays of burning red fire broke through the calm, raining chaos. Morgan could hear the muffled murmurs of rising defiance throughout the kingdom. Men clad in black obsidian armor, their skin ablaze stormed the ground. Their swords rumored to pierce even the strongest of metals. The thought of their hot blades cutting dragon skin made Morgan's blood boil, igniting in a fury she didn't know existed. The era of dark and misused magic was over, the age of resurgence was upon them all, that she would ensure. Each dwindling spark of the blue salt tempered as the flames erupted from her in furious roar, so much so, that if she closed her eyes, Morgan thought she might just float off into the noon sun. It was as though her body knew what to do before her mind did.

Her mom Celia's booming voice howled out over the darkening world. The skies above the ashen city of Lyrid burned with uncertainty. Never before had Morgan seen a city so decimated in such a short amount of time, it was as though the realm itself had caught fire and would soon implode. She stood quiet, silent, soaring up evermore towards the skies, enemy arrows flickering past like dying stars. Below her, the dragon caves were their own roaring inferno. Thousands of Dragon Sorcerer's swirled above, their deep, rich calls of war echoing through the valley like that of her own heart beating as fate awaited.

Enemy horns answered in deafening, wild, throws.

The air ignited with fear, unmistakable sounds of metal meeting shields disrupted the still. Just as the first thunder of battle screamed, Morgan let out her own battle-cry: "For Lyrid, and all who call her home, we stand and we fight. We hold this sacred land and guard it with all our might."

Morgan clung to the vaulted clouds as she entered the fray. Her world shattering fast in fiery blazes, and in that moment, the dragon and sorcerer were one, and nothing would break that bond. The war of the Lyrid had begun.