Lindarion circled him once.
The dragon didn't move.
But that pressure was still there. Heavy. Not hostile. Just constant.
'You're listening. But you're not submitting.'
That was fair. Lindarion wasn't sure he deserved that kind of trust anyway.
He stepped back and crouched again, arms resting on his knees. "You're going to get us killed."
Ashwing blinked slowly. If he felt guilty, he didn't show it.
"I mean, I get it," Lindarion muttered. "Sudden evolution, overwhelming hunger for ambient mana, basic disrespect for structural integrity—I've been there."
The dragon's snout tilted slightly. Not mockery. Just interest.
"Don't give me that look," Lindarion said. "You're the one who grew a second spine and decided gravity was optional."
Ashwing huffed a breath. A small one. Barely there. But warm.
Almost like agreement.
Lira finally spoke. "How long before he loses control again?"
Lindarion stood slowly and didn't turn around. "He hasn't lost control."
"He chose not to burn us."
"That's not the same as control."
He didn't argue. She wasn't wrong.
Control meant boundaries. Discipline. Awareness of consequences.
Ashwing had raw instinct and too much power in one body.
Which, to be fair, made two of them.
Lindarion exhaled and walked toward the pack he'd dropped earlier. He picked it up, checked the straps, then looked back.
Ashwing was still seated. Still watching.
He pulled a strip of dried meat from the pouch and held it up.
The dragon blinked. Then leaned forward and, very precisely, took the strip between two teeth.
Didn't burn it. Didn't bite Lindarion's hand off.
Lindarion nodded once. "Good."
Then winced. "Great. I'm rewarding basic survival behavior. This is parenting, isn't it?"
Ashwing chewed once and swallowed.
Lira stepped closer. She looked up at the dragon with something between respect and caution.
"He's listening to you. But it won't last if he keeps growing."
"And when it breaks?"
"I figure it out before that."
She didn't look convinced.
But he turned toward Ashwing again and tried to focus, not on fire, not on commands, just connection. That pressure between them hadn't faded. It was alive now, something with shape and weight.
Like a rope pulled tight between minds.
Ashwing blinked once. Then lowered his head.
Lindarion reached forward again. Hand steady. Fingers against scale.
'I don't need you to obey me. I need you to choose not to kill the world or something by accident.'
The dragon didn't move.
But he didn't turn away either.
Ashwing shifted forward.
He lowered his body until his wings tilted down and one foreleg bent enough to become a platform. His tail curled around behind him, anchoring his position in the frost. No snort. No flare. Just stillness that meant ready.
Lindarion didn't move yet.
He glanced at the line of muscle down Ashwing's back. The wings were massive now. Fully formed, ridged with scale, dark and matte at the tips. Meant for distance. Meant for power.
'He wants us on his back.'
He stepped closer and placed a hand on the foreleg. The heat was faint but steady. Ashwing didn't shift or twitch. The contact was accepted.
Behind him, Lira approached. Her footfalls didn't crunch the frost. She walked without noise now, even when the ground wanted to give her away.
She stopped beside him.
"Are we really doing this?" Her voice was quiet, flat.
"Unless you'd rather walk."
"Not a fan of dying midair."
She looked up at Ashwing, then back at him. "You think he knows what he's doing?"
"No. But I think he wants to."
Lira didn't comment. That was either agreement or resignation. Maybe both.
Lindarion stepped onto Ashwing's leg first. He gripped the edge of a ridge and pulled himself up slowly, finding purchase where the armor plates met. It wasn't difficult, but it was nothing like a saddle. Nothing designed for riders.
Ashwing didn't move. His breathing stayed even.
By the time Lindarion reached the midpoint of his shoulder, he was already guessing what the takeoff would feel like. Fast. Violent. Unforgiving.
He sat near the ridge at the base of the neck. It felt secure enough, but he didn't kid himself. One hard roll and he'd be airborne in the worst way.
Below, Lira climbed without a word. Her movements were efficient. Clean. She took a different path than his, lighter steps, faster choices. She didn't ask where to sit.
She found her place behind him, knees braced on either side, one hand gripping a ridge just behind his hip.
She didn't offer reassurance.
The cold crept in at the edges, biting at the seams of his coat. His hands felt stiff, even through gloves.
"You still don't know how to fly him, do you?" she asked.
Her grip didn't loosen. "Then don't screw it up."
Lindarion leaned forward slightly, resting one hand near the base of Ashwing's neck. The heat coming off the dragon's spine was enough to counter the wind. Not fire. Just core temperature. Steady and alive.
Ashwing shifted his stance.
Not a twitch, it was full weight movement. Shoulders tensed. Wings spread.
Lindarion tightened his grip instinctively.
There was no warning. No preparatory sound. Just sudden momentum.
The ground fell away like someone had yanked the forest down instead of pushing the dragon up.
Lindarion's stomach lurched.
The wings beat once, then again, harder the second time. The air pressure slammed against them, then broke. Wind clawed at his face. His coat flared behind him, pulling at his shoulders.
He ducked lower, one hand pressed flat against Ashwing's back, the other gripping the edge of a ridge.
Ashwing rose fast. Not smooth. Not graceful. But deliberate.
They cleared the trees in seconds.
The night air hit harder above the canopy. Colder. Cleaner. The stars weren't blurred yet, but his eyes burned from the wind.
Ashwing adjusted his pitch. The wings locked in place. The frantic climbing evened into glide.
Everything below shrank fast.
The forest turned into a map of shapes and shadows. The village was gone now, behind them, somewhere in the dark, just another cluster of roofs and smoke that wouldn't be awake yet.
Lindarion breathed through his teeth. His jaw ached. His spine hurt. But he didn't feel fear.
He didn't say it out loud.
Lira's voice cut through the wind, low but close.
"You're not bad at this."
"I'm not doing anything."
"That's what I meant."
He let out something that was almost a laugh.
Ashwing banked slightly left.
Lindarion leaned into it without thinking.
The wind pattern shifted. The curve smoothed out. Balance held.
Ashwing wasn't just flying. He was learning.
Each motion was more refined than the last. His wingbeats weren't panicked. They were timed. Each correction brought them closer to steady rhythm.
Lindarion could feel the mana in the air now. Not much. Thin strands. Cold-threaded. Unstable.
Ashwing wasn't pulling it in this time.
Maybe he didn't need it.
Or maybe he understood how fragile flight could be if he started eating the sky.
Lira tapped once against his shoulder.
He looked back without speaking.
She pointed to the horizon. A line of sharp hills. The beginning of the low mountain pass. At this pace, they'd reach it before dawn.
She leaned closer. "That's our next shelter."
He nodded once and turned back forward.
Ashwing adjusted course without needing to be told.
Lindarion didn't question it.
Didn't want to break the connection that was finally working.
He exhaled and let his shoulders drop an inch.
The cold was still brutal.
The wind still tore at his sleeves.
But for the first time since the Academy failed to defend him.
He was moving forward finally.