The Sunset Flight (1/4)

Writers: Avery, Corrin, Duskdog, Halyonix, Heather, Iluva, Sia
Date Posted: 26th November 2025

Characters: Saibra, I'serin, Y'dran, E'kirim, K'leriac, M'kayre, T'lonas, K'valdran, E'kavas, T'mhas, M'rhas, L'val, M'thos, R'kesha, Tamerel, Kevia, L'set
Description: Chioneth rises to determine DFW’s Weyrleader
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 13, day 2 of Turn 12
Notes: Weather - Cloudy 67 F / 19 C

Saibra

It was the golden hour. The rugged cliffs of Dragonsfall shone as if they’d been dipped in gold ore. The speckles of color cast by the bodies of the many dragons lounging on their ledges made the Weyr look like a golden headdress encrusted with jewels.

On Chioneth’s weyrledge the large, oddly colored rock that had been given to her by Aluneth even caught the light and managed to look magnificent in the glow. Beside the rock lay the jasmine body of Dragonsfall’s senior queen. Her long elegant tail swished languidly back and forth, despite her light slumber.

Sitting beside Chioneth was the much smaller figure of the Dragonsfall Weyrwoman. She reclined back against her lifemate’s flank, enjoying the relative warmth from the sun on the cliffs. It was a wonderfully mild day for the normally snow-ridden Weyr. And the peace, the pensive quiet, of the moments before a flight… Those moments were something Saibra savored and had come to appreciate over the Turns.

“Explain to me why you wish to transfer here,” I’serin asked of the dark-haired bronzerider across from him. There was a hardness to L’set’s eyes that the younger Weyrleader was not certain he liked. Aluneth had already noted his dislike for the dark bronze Proth, most likely because the other dragon had barely acknowledged Aluneth’s rank and only had eyes for Chioneth. It was not an auspicious start to the interview.

“A new challenge,” L’set replied with the smooth ease of a lie. “Have you never wanted to try something new, to see what heights you can attain?” L’set smiled roguishly. This young Weyrleader did not strike him as the type to achieve greatness, and if the news out of Dragonsfall was to be believed, I’serin never would. His name would only be remembered as the reason why young bronzeriders shouldn’t be Weyrleaders.

On the Weyrrim Ghraisath lay just beneath the frantic winking of fresh oil along his pale hide. Quiet, alert, he was watching the evening traffic with a fond, roguish tilt of his head to any darling green that wheeled by. In that regard it was just another evening. A sensual twist here, a sleek maneuver there, all of it against the gilded sky, was a sight he would normally join without hesitation.

But not that evening.

Not because of boredom, but because Ghraisath had been watching _her_-- and only her-- for days. Nothing short of Threadfall could tear his gaze away now.

Across the Weyr, Seriaeth was sunning next to a green dragon, dozing while his rider visited an old friend. Wiping away tears from his laughing eyes, Y’dran said, “I have no idea how I’m still alive after hanging out with you so much.”

“Because I keep you on your toes!” his friend said with a hearty laugh. “You’d be bored without me, admit it.”

Near the edge of the forest, a dragon screamed. The trees rustled haphazardly a split second before Norrianth leapt into the air, awkwardly barreling up and away from the much larger bronze hot on his tail. E'kirim looked up from what he was doing, trying to piece together what was happening where he couldn't see. He saw a flash of the ground disappearing below him and the bright feeling of excitement E'kirim better attributed to playing. He assumed it was fine and went back to ignoring whatever Norrianth had gotten into.

Somewhere across the weyrbowl, K'leriac looked up from where he tinkered with his new prosthetic. **Don't hurt yourself.** He chided.

Obrianth rumbled. A few wing beats had him catching up too quickly to the smaller, younger bronze, and he pulled back to keep the game going. }: I'm fine.:{ He answered.

M’kayre was, unusually, rather content. The hidework he was working on in his office was nearly finished, but he wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t -- once he settled into the right headspace, he actually found that sort of thing soothing in an odd sort of way. It was a very _tidy_ thing to do, something he could easily control, and satisfying in a way that many things were not.

Far below, T’lonas sat in one of the weyrling classroom chairs, his feet propped up on a desk, his hands busy with his crochet. A few chairs away, a dejected young weyrling sat, writing out the signs of thicktail, ways to prevent it, and procedures for relieving it, over and over again.

“What number are we on?” T’lonas asked.

“Twenty-seven, sir.”

“Wonderful! Over halfway! Keep at it, I believe in you.” He went back to his crocheting.

In another part of the Weyr, bronzerider K’valdran was enjoying the fine weather as well. He and R’kesha had finished a satisfactory dragonchess game and stepped out onto the ledge to take in the sunset-- and for K’valdran to make a point. “See?” he said, nodding over to where a glimpse of Chioneth’s hide could be seen over the lip of the upper cliffs. “Her color is up. Karcalanth says her time is near.”

Indeed, the great bronze beside them was watching the queen with naked interest.

R’kesha felt something like hope blossom in his chest briefly -- dull, muted, but definitely present -- and instead of tamping it down with the weight of reality (“what would it even change?”), he let it smolder a little. “You’re gonna chase, right?”

“That’s why I returned.” K’valdran smiled a mirthless smile. “It’s past time Dragonsfall’s fate returned to the hands of her own people.”

Far up on his own weyr ledge, Roquath was getting rubbed down so his mahogany hide shone in the fading daylight. E'kavas found he was increasingly pushing to keep himself and his children busy in the sevendays before and after the anniversary of River Bluff's destruction, and after several mugs of whiskey mixed with klah he decided now was the best time for the brown to get bathed and polished. And no matter how often they did it, both Ellenico and Kevia were happy to help.

"Psst, Rockie." Kevia whispered as she took the cloth to scrub along the brown's jaw. "We're going to have you looking real handsome for Chioneth. You're so much better than stupid Zarkarth and Rhalith."

"What's that, kiddo?" E'kavas called.

"Nothing! Just telling Roquath what a good boy he is."

}: The best boy. :{ Roquath agreed, then snickered in agreement once E'kavas was distracted again.

At dinner, instead of eating, L'val asked for a headache tea from the healers. The chorus of chromatic dragons gossiping about the impending rise and what dragons they favored to win, the bronzes sniping at each other and jockeying to show off, was getting on his nerves. Then he grabbed a pile of hides about full-Weyr wing formations and how to lead at high altitude, and set himself to work outside in the Weyr's gardens, far away from the dragons. Not that it would actually substantially help him to concentrate, to have physical distance from the dragons who focused their thoughts on the queen. To truly find silence, he would have to leave and then hope he caught wind in time to /between/ back and chase, and he wasn't willing to risk it.

The last time Chioneth had flown, he'd still been new to the Wingleadership and had not yet felt higher ambition for Dragonsfall. Now, though, he felt it. If he could keep his and Kyverth's mind clear of distractions from other dragons, could he claim the prize and lead the Weyr?

Ghraisath insisted Chioneth would fly before the day was out, so T’mhas knew better than to let himself get too comfortable. That said, in his current half-stretch on the couch of his and M’thos’ weyr, long arm jackknifed under his head, the latest (and tensest) round of Tunnelsnakes and Triphazards was pushing an easy smile across his face, and he might have looked well on his way to relaxed if not for the dull drumming of his dragon’s thoughts. Chioneth. Chioneth. Chioneth. It sat like a pinprick of stars behind his eyes, dimming only when he glanced at M’thos.

M’rhas, on the other hand, had been playing so long that he’d forgotten about anything else. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten roped into this in the first place, really. It was the sort of game he and half the lower caverns kids cut their teeth on, a solid way to get their first tastes of creche-level clout (and was, therefore, the sort of game M’rhas knew inside and out). But somehow he’d also lost the last round-- and, irritatingly, the one before that.

“Tamerel,” the young bluerider groaned. His face in his hands. “I’m about to take a sharding nap over here, Tamerel.”

"Give him a minute," M'thos said, though Tamerel had been shaking the die for a solid minute and stuck his tongue out at his older brother. M'thos oh-so-casually bumped his hand against the kid's hand and the die skittered across the board, landing on (yet another) six.

"Hey- oh hey!" The whine quickly turned into a cheer as Tamerel scrambled to his feet to look at the number. "Hah, I'm winning again, Rhas!"

Last updated on the November 28th 2025

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The Sunset Flight (1/4)