Luminous: The Sequel?


One time, I procrastinated so much from writing the next chapter, I ended up writing what might become the opening to the sequel / spin-off of Luminous!


I've had some ideas I've been tinkering with on the backburner for a while, but nothing detailed yet.


Enjoy!

 

Ceron hated his job.


Even more than that, he hated that he couldn’t convince anyone about it. According to Latakian standards, he had the most challenging and thrilling apprenticeship a young lad could’ve asked for.


According to Father, he was the one true heir of the family business. The other family business, to be precise. Cerin had the actual one, being the firstborn and all.


And, since Ceron was the spare, might as well be dragon bait on the training grounds while he was at it. One couldn’t be too dispensable when one carried the Hadrian name, unless one had glowing green eyes. Or swallowed one, for that matter.

Faster! The dragon seemed to roar as it dove. Ceron urged his aching legs to pick up some speed from the sodden grass. He heard a warning scream, before a blast of fire slammed into his shield.

Even with the borax coating, the metal warmed and buckled along his arm. His knees weakened from the force, and he crumpled sideways onto moist, turned earth. He felt sticky splashes on his arm, followed by blossoms of searing pain. Once the wisps of flame had dispersed into air, he gritted his teeth and scrambled to his feet.

“Damn you, Cerin! Are you trying to roast me alive?” He yelled at the dragon as it circled away. The audience were laughing, and he could’ve sworn the donghead was cackling along with them.

The rumble of a gong reverberated around the clearing. Ceron spun around to find old Sir Nethan, the seneschal, standing beside it.

“Lord Cerin. Lord Ceron. The Baron requests your audience.” He called as he lowered the gong’s baton back in its holster. Ceron heaved a sigh of relief.

“Not a moment too soon.” He muttered. He threw aside his shield and set about untying the gambeson as he strode towards the Keep. His arm burned as he battled with the knots, and he glanced down to find dollops of black paint on his Hadrian Red sleeve. The lacquer had melted off the shield. Cursing under his breath, he picked up his pace.

“Oi! Wait!” Cerin hollered, panting, having just regained his human tongue. “Clothe me!”

Ceron made sure to kick up some dirt as he strode past the pile of fresh clothes on his way, pretending not to see Sir Nethan sighing.


Cerin wasn’t to be defeated.

“You left me no choice, little brother.” He lamented, “Guess I’m going to have to fly all the way to the Keep and let Father know what a great dragon trainer you are.”

You don’t need me, idiot. You have a dozen adoring fans clinging to the fence.

Ceron shook his head in annoyance. As he passed by the group of squires and pages at the fence, a lone female voice called out.

“Ceron, aren’t you hurt?”

Ceron continued walking.


 

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