We alighted on the stone terrace. Well, it was more of a "soft crash" than an alighting. This was still only my seventh intentional landing as a dragon so far, and all the ones before this had been onto nice, soft earth. I hadn't realised how much I'd been skidding and sliding on the dirt in my landings until my talons skipped off the cobblestones and I tripped, slamming my shoulder into the ground but thankfully not going tumbling over the edge. Behind me, Arthur learned from my mistakes and flapped his wings hard as he came in, slowing down enough for him to set down gently.

The man, the dragoon, who had escorted us gave me another odd look as I righted myself. I pretended not to notice that he was looking as I let Grace down off my back. In front of us stood the gatehouse, set into the outer wall. Two small towers extended from either side of it, watching over the path. There were two sets of gates, one at the front and one at the back, both being intricate structures of wrought iron depicting dragons standing rampant, their hands touching where the gates met, and several flowers and blades at the sides.

The dragoon dismounted and hauled equipment out of the bags attached to the dragon's saddle. "Get some rest, Cypress," he said. "I'll take them from here."

The dragon nodded and sat silent for a few seconds before abruptly taking off and flying into the castle's grounds, over both sets of walls. Why even have walls if the dragons here can just fly over them…? I wondered to myself.

The dragoon approached the gate and held up a small, silvery metal hand chime. When he rang it, the tinny sound seemed to reach out much farther over the mountainside than an instrument that small had any right to.

"Hail!" he shouted. "Dragoon Cypress, Fifth Flight, requesting entry for myself and four guests seeking aid from the corps!"

There was no answer in words, but a moment later a metallic shunk sounded from inside the towers, and with the sound of cranking gears, the metal gates flew open. The dragoon—also called Cypress?—made a motion for us to follow, and headed up the path into the outer bailey of the castle. I followed with Grace nearly skipping along at my side and Arthur and Rosalie on my tail.

Once we were past the outer wall, the path meandered and split, with some branches winding through large garden areas and others heading towards lone buildings. I could see several people tending to the gardens and a few more toiling at sites that seemed to be more buildings under active construction, their walls only partially up. All of those people were wearing plain shirts the same burgundy as the dragoon's coat and dark brown trousers.

The main path, however, led up to another long stone building three storeys high and set up against the inner wall. Cypress took us inside through a broad wooden door set into the rightmost section of the structure and then up a cramped staircase inside, past doors that led out onto every floor until we got to the top. I had to tuck my wings in tightly to avoid crashing into the doors or the gas lanterns that lit the place and twist my body at awkward angles to reach each new flight. This place was big enough for dragons like me, but only barely.

At the top was a hallway that led us to two more wrought iron gates the same as the last, only these were already open. Past the gatehouse, we entered the inner bailey, where the path turned into a stone-walled trench that ran between those raised square courtyards through enclosed, sunken areas of stony gardens that seemed more for recreation than the gardens below, which had looked like miniature farms. This bailey was all but silent, the wind diving down to whistle through the canyons in the grounds as it blew.

We went right up to the main keep, a rectangular building with a sloping black slate roof and buttressed spires rising from its sides. One large, wide tower was connected at its western edge, which rose higher than any other building in the castle. Cypress led us up another flight of stairs and through what seemed to be the keep's main door.

Inside, we went directly into a long hallway lined with doors. Thankfully, this hall was larger than the last and more than roomy enough for me to stand up to my full height and flex my wings a little. Cypress turned sharply to the right, ignoring all the other doors in the hallway for a set of double doors at the end.

«Excuse me?» I said. «Where exactly are you taking us?»

Cypress paused, hand on the doorknob. "You're going to see the commander," he said. "You said it was an emergency."

Dread pooled in my heart at that, but Grace nudged my shoulder excitedly. "The commander!" she whispered.

«I heard,» I whispered back. «Are you sure this is a good idea? What if they decide to lock us up to study?»

She gave me a light shove, surprisingly managing to knock me back a step. "They won't," she insisted. "You can't get cold feet now!"

I clenched my talons on reflex and broke a chip from the stone floor. «Just keep your guard up,» I warned.

"Always do," said Grace.

The doors led into another staircase, this one spiralling upwards around the largest tower. The stairs seemed to be situated between an outer wall and an inner one, with doors at each landing leading into the actual rooms within the tower. We climbed one floor, then two, then three, four, and finally came to the fifth floor. Looking out the windows that were placed at the end of each flight was somehow dizzying, even though I could fly much higher than this if I wanted to, and had even done so that day.

The staircase kept going up to an opening onto the roof, but Cypress turned to knock at a significantly fancier door to the side. It was painted a charcoal black, with bits of gold filigree framing it at the edges and wrapping around a small barred window that allowed a view inside, though I was too far back to get a good angle. Within the room, I could hear an argument.

"We can not let this line of logic go unpursued!" an aggressive, commanding voice said. "This creature is a dangerous unknown, and its very existence desecrates the sanctity of the image of man!"

"Don't think yourself high enough to issue me orders, brother," a deep, deadly calm voice said. "And do not refer to anyone in the ranks of this corps as a 'creature' again, or I will have you thrown from the battlements."

"You would do well to remember the line of patronage," the first voice said, audibly stiffening.

"And you would do well to remember that your 'Schola' is in dire need of our service," said the second voice. "You don't have the leverage that you think you do."

Cypress cleared his throat and interrupted the conversation with a sharp knock. "Identify yourself," the second voice barked.

"Dragoon Cypress, Fifth Wing," said Cypress. "There are four guests to see you, commander. They said they have urgent need for aid." He glanced back at us before adding, "I have reason to believe that we may have discovered more ersatz."

There was a haughty sigh from inside, then the second voice, the commander, said, "Silence, brother. Enter, Sir Barsacq."

Cypress—or "Sir Barsacq", or whatever his real name was—pushed the door open, and motioned for us to enter. The room we came into was an office that took up the entire floor of the tower. Fancy curved bookshelves stood to either side, each one covered with tomes, books, and even a few scrolls stacked neatly at the end. A long table laid at the centre with a huge, highly detailed map of the whole of Rimewater Vale sitting on top, held down by more books, a bottle holding several ink pens, and a collection of measuring instruments. Mounted heads, only one of which I recognised as a roc, hung from the walls in a single-file row. Most of the heads belonged to reptilian beasts, and for a brief moment I shuddered with the random thought that some might be dragon heads, but then realised fairly quickly that that would be an utterly bizarre thing for a commander of the Dragoon Corps to display.

At the back stood a wooden desk, painted the same black and gold as the door, right in front of a fireplace that popped and crackled as it kept out the ambient chill of these high northern reaches. Documents littered the desk, interspersed with two steaming ceramic cups that seemed to be filled with tea, and more ink pens. Sitting at the desk in a black, high-backed wooden chair with red seating was a woman. She had rugged ruddy skin that was lightly tanned under the weak sunlight of the north and short, straw-blond hair that swept back like she had just arrived from a dragon flight of her own. She wore a burgundy coat with a very pale pink cravat and dull gold epaulettes on her shoulders. Sitting down as she was, I could see a black circle on the top of her epaulettes; one was filled with a single gold star rising over a pair of crossed spears, and the other had a more esoteric symbol embossed in the same golden thread:

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

To the side of the desk stood a man, younger looking than the middle-aged woman. He had a pale, severe face and light brown eyes that bore directly into mine. His hair was short and dark brown, almost black, and was combed straight back to reveal a prominent widow's peak. He was dressed in what seemed like clerical attire, which set off alarm bells in my head, though he didn't look like a priest. He wore a white cassock and cowl, with a stole—a long strip of silk hung around his neck—coloured in black with red embroidery depicting a series of runic symbols and the Luminary Cross. He wore a silver pendant around his neck with another strange symbol I had never seen before engraved on the front:

"Sir Barsacq, thank you for escorting these people to me," said the woman, who I assumed was the commander. "You may take your leave."

Cypress gave a short bow of his head. "Of course, sir," he said, and sidled out of the room.

The commander glanced over each of us in turn. I shifted uncomfortably as her sharp blue eyes landed on me, but they lingered only a moment before continuing to Grace at my side, then turning her attention to the whole group.

"I am Commander Cynthia of Castle Caspian, home of the Caspian Flight Academy," she said. "You have my attention."

I stepped forward. «Sir,» I said. She raised an eyebrow. «My name is Belfry. This is my…sister, Grace Lawcrest, and our travelling companions, Arthur Coslett and Rosalie Lecerf.» I tried to avoid idly scraping at the stone tile floor out of nervousness. Doubts suddenly swarmed my mind. What if she didn't believe us? What if that man with her was going to take us to some Church laboratory, where we'd never see the light of day again? What if they saw us as monsters that needed to be put down? Cypress had seemed to know something, though. "Ersatz", he had called us. Whatever did that mean?

"Out with it, child," said Cynthia. "If the matter is urgent, then I advise you to speak with urgency."

«This might be a little hard to believe,» I prefaced. «But Arthur and I both used to be human. We changed not all that long ago. We came here hoping that the Dragoon Corps might be able to tell us why that happened, and if there's any way we can go back to…normal.»

Cynthia steepled her fingers, leaning forward on the desk. "You're right that that's hard to believe," she said. "In fact it sounds like utter nonsense."

All the hope that had bloomed in my heart since arriving at the castle crashed and crumpled into despair at that. «What?» I breathed, knowing full well what she had said and meant.

"That sounds ridiculous," Cynthia clarified anyway. "Transformation from human to dragon? I've never heard of such a thing." She scribbled something on one of the papers in front of her and handed it to the man at her side. "Brother Alvhir, you're an expert on bloodcraft. Is such a thing possible within the art?"

"Certainly not, sir," the man, Alvhir, said. He bowed and also exited the room, taking the paper with him.

"It's true!" shouted Grace, losing all sense of tact in an instant. "It's really true! I watched Belfry transform the first time! It happened right in front of my eyes!"

"Oh, I'm sure there's plenty of fishing folk down by the gulf who will say they saw the fish their friend caught with their own eyes, and it was the size of a whale," said Cynthia. She rolled her eyes. "If we relied on the honesty of everyone who 'said' they saw something incredible, we'd have no sense of reality anymore, and the corps would be fully occupied investigating empty thickets where warlockry 'might' have taken place, and innocent folk whose foul odour 'might' be a sign of a spirit's enchantment, or so says their neighbour."

Grace balled up her fists in indignance. Rosalie stepped up, the incensed haughtiness I expected from someone who came from a "House" taking over her face.

"This is outrageous," she said. "You allowed us in, only to call us liars? What right do you have to deny us based on sheer incredulity? As if you know every possibility of magic! How unbecoming of a knight."

Cynthia's other eyebrow raised. "Your audacity is commendable. And yet you still stand on words alone."

Something felt off about this conversation. If she really didn't believe us, why hadn't she thrown us out already? There was a direction to everything she was saying. She was searching for proof.

«It happened after I…swallowed a gemstone,» I offered. «My sister and I were going exploring in some ruins and I fell through a hole in the floor. I almost died, and then some…ghosts offered me the stone. I took it and it healed me, then I transformed about half an hour later.» I gestured towards myself with one hand. «And now…this.»

«The same thing happened to me,» said Arthur. «I was sick with the rot, and Rosalie went halfway across the Vale to get one of those stones and bring it to me. It cured me of the rot, but turned me into a dragon, too.»

"A fanciful narrative," said Cynthia. "Do you happen to have pieces of the gemstones? Something material to show?"

I sighed. «I can transform back into a human,» I said. «But I don't have any clothes, so….»

The door behind me opened, as if cued by my suggestion. Brother Alvhir returned, a small wooden box in his hands and one of those people in the same uniform as the folks outside in the gardens, a servant I surmised. The servant carried two vast white towels, neatly folded on top of each other, as well as a huge, grey-green stoneware jug that sloshed with water inside.

They knew, I confirmed in my head. But they didn't just know about humans-turned-dragon, they knew we could turn back, and they knew we needed water afterwards. That meant they had to have observed the transformation before. There could be others of us, right now in this keep. My dead hope was resuscitated, though I still tempered it with caution.

"Well, these should be an aid to your privacy," said Cynthia. "If you would, I would like for you to show us this transformation." The servant held the towels out towards me, and I gladly took one. I untied Juniper's little nest and set her on the ground. Cynthia gave the dog a curious look as she shook the remains of the mattress free and panted nervously, looking around at all the new people.

I wrapped the towel around myself and dove into my mind, summoning myself back to that boat on the sea. The stakes of the situation ran through my thoughts, making it feel like the line I used to pull my human image up from the depths had gotten just a little bit heavier. But it worked just like it had last time. There was a burst of steam, and I felt the odd sensation of my limbs retracting and shifting. My scales blended into skin, and a few minutes later, I stood up, the large towel covering my now human body more than a long robe would. Thirst cut into me, and I snatched the jug away from the servant and drank water in big gulps.

"Me too, please," Arthur's voice said next to me. I glanced over to see him already having turned human again too. I paused to take a few more swigs before handing the jug to him.

At her seat, Cynthia gave a satisfied nod. "Well, that's unequivocal," she said. "Martin, give them their clothes please."

The servant handed us more cloth, this time copies of the trousers and shirt that the servants wore themselves. I took mine and got dressed underneath the towel. These clothes didn't fit perfectly, but it was better than nothing.

"Thank you, Martin," Cynthia said as the man gathered our discarded towels and silently slipped out of the room. "So. It seems you two are truly ersatz."

"Cypress also said that," said Grace. "What does that word mean, 'ersatz'?"

"It's the term we've come to use for people with your sister's condition," said Cynthia. "Ersatz dragons. As opposed to true dragons."

She was still calm and confident, but the hard and harsh quality she'd had while interrogating us had gone. I felt almost welcome in the castle. "So, there's more, then?" I asked. My voice cracked. It was frustrating how quickly my body seemed to forget how to function as a human, even having spent only a day away. "Are they here, in the castle?"

"You are the third and fourth cases that have come to us." Cynthia clasped her hands. "All in the last two months, I might add. One of them elected to return to their home in the Juniper Hills, and the other is still here with us, yes. You might meet them soon."

"So…do you have a cure?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

Cynthia gave a melancholic sigh. "I'm afraid not, Ms. Lawcrest. We've been looking into the matter as long as we've known about it. But our resources only count for so much, and we haven't had much time to consult outside sources."

My heart sank. I looked away, and said nothing.

"I am sorry," said Cynthia. "However, as I said, we are working on it. I would like to extend an offer so that you can help with that."

I could feel Grace vibrating with anticipation beside me. "Yes?" she said.

"First, I would like you two to submit to having blood drawn by our liaison with the Schola, Brother Alvhir, so that it can be studied by our occultic wing. There is a lot that we can learn from blood, but thus far we only have one sample to compare to. Three would greatly improve our team's ability to find any…peculiarities."

"If it means helping you find a cure," I said. "I'm willing."

"That's excellent to hear, Ms. Lawcrest," said Cynthia. "My office isn't suitable for bloodcraft. Brother Alvhir has a laboratory on the floor just below this one. Why don't you four head down there to have blood taken, then head to the refectory at the opposite end of the keep for food? I will send a servant to fetch you when it's time for the second part."

"Yes!" Grace said before I could do anything else. "That sounds great!"

Cynthia's lip tilted into a half-smile. "Well then, off with you. We will meet again later."

Grace vigorously nodded before dashing out the door before Alvhir had time to begin leading us. The surly priest grimaced at the display, before ushering the remaining three of us forward.

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