Niter fires, and ash sputters out. A choking cloud of it. Muttering rumbles through the crowds that watch us. The word I hear, or maybe just imagine I hear, spreading across the arena like fire: sparkforsaken. After all the dragonborn propaganda about the supremacy of their blood, after all their rigged Winnowing Tournaments to prove who deserves to ride, this is what they have to show for it. “You want to try that again?” Ixion screams. The dragon spews ash, billows of it, but no flames come out. The heat passes harmlessly over my unstocked flamesuit. I’m smiling.
