One after another, we trailed from class to class as the day wore on. When it came to history and math, Beryll kept yawning and stubbornly distracting himself as the teachers droned on. Eventually, the final two classes loomed ahead. Beryll and I parted ways as our schedules finally diverged. Alone, I walked down the tunnel that leads into the deepest depths of Meltingpot. There weren’t any windows cut into the stone this far in; instead, torches rested in alcoves along the walls. The tunnel opened into yet another chamber, but this one was much smaller than the entrance chambers. The ceiling was about fifteen feet up and over a hundred feet wide and long. It stretched onwards before ending at shelves and chests that contained a plethora of items, weapons, and other materials. Racks holding weapons, ranging from swords to maces to bows, were evenly spaced along the walls.

I was the first to arrive, so I sat in the corner to the left of the entrance. By the time the bell rang throughout the school, the rest of the students had shown up. It was a much smaller class compared to the rest I’ve had today; there were about twenty students in total. These were the best, the smartest, the strongest, the ones aiming for the top. And yes, that included me, I guess.

I snapped out of my thoughts as a figure larger than any of the students strode the entrance, followed by three more, smaller Dragonics. Bringing up the back was a female Dragonic with dark skin around her face; dull gold scales along her forearms, neck, wings, tail, and legs; a shallow shirt that stopped just below her navel and left her upper back exposed (a common trend among Dragonics due to the obvious fact that we need to leave our wings unrestrained); and a large, alabaster tooth hanging from a wire around her neck. She appeared to be the youngest, maybe a few years out of school. She stifled a yawn and shook long, auburn hair out of her eyes.

The next two were more of what I was expecting: both of them were males, around their forties or so; one had dark red scales with tanned skin, while the other’s forest green scales stood out against his pale complexion; each wore an open back tunic that was tuck under their belts; wore thick pants with their legs over heavy soled boots; with both of them having stony expressions.

It was the Dragonic in front that was the most noteworthy. Upon his entrance, every student kept their eyes trained on him. Scarlet scales underlaid with copper flickered with the torches. He spread his wings, seeming to fill the chamber as he did so. His sable hair was trimmed short, just long enough to start to fall under its own weight. Boots strode unhurriedly across the floor, the sound of footsteps uninterrupted except for the crackle of flames. He reached the middle of the chamber before turning around to face us. His face, as best as I can describe, effortlessly demanded respect with the smallest glance.

He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but it was a moot point. Everyone here, every student, knew who he was. If you attended Meltingpot, you knew him.

“My name is Scorchwing, as you may know, and this is the first class for those who wish to one day reach the Forged-Scales. You are allowed to take these classes because you were deemed to have the potential to make it to the top of the Dragonics. However, you have only been granted a starting point. These classes have one purpose and one purpose only: to prepare you for the trials you’ll face in the future. Nothing in these classes are guaranteed: some of you may pass, some of you may fail, others might give up halfway through and drop down into the regular curriculum. If that’s the case, then you do not have what it takes to reach the Forged-Scales.

“Each teacher here will assess each one of you, and they will guide and push towards your own improvement. The first class will consist of an overall honing of your abilities. We will alternate between controlling fire, weapons, flight, exercise, and any other field throughout the duration of the course. The second class shall focus on individual students. During that time, we will separate the students between each of us teachers in order to help those students in a certain field with more specific instructions.”

He shook out his wings, burst of flames erupting from his scales for a second, illuminating every crag of the chamber, before surrounding him in a cloud of embers. “This is only the start of a very long, tedious journey. You will face many difficulties in many forms, but if you manage to persevere until the end, then you achieve a goal only a few could ever reach. It is our job to get you started, but only if you have the strength to see it through. It is my hope that those who make it through this course will achieve the title of Forged-Scale after graduation. With that, I believe I have said everything I needed to say. Let the first class begin!”

The students cheered and applauded as Scorchwing ended his speech. I joined in on the applause, but I couldn’t show all my enthusiasm. A nagging feeling pulled at the corner of my mind, nurturing doubts that I’ve pushed away time and time again. This is where I’m supposed to be. This is what I need to do. I will complete these classes, pass the trials, and come out as a Forged-Scale. It’s what I’ve been preparing for my whole life. It’s what I have to do.

Then why does it feel wrong?