The Magic of Dragons: Riders and Hunters

One year ago, I survived a plane crash that killed my whole family.

The fact that I walked away? Miracle.

The fact that I might’ve hallucinated a dragon dragging me from the wreckage?

Yeah, we don’t talk about that.

Now I’ve been shipped off to Theridon Academy, where dragon riders train like elite soldiers and everyone looks like they were born for battle. Meanwhile, I’m just the grief-riddled transfer student who can’t remember most of the crash and is constantly low-key spiraling.

And did I mention the kingdom’s on the verge of war?

The riders and hunters have hated each other for centuries—and I’ve somehow landed smack in the middle.

There’s a golden boy prince who’s flawless and infuriating.

A dangerous dragon hunter who gives major do-not-trust-me vibes.

They both want something from me.

They might both be lying.

As weird visions start messing with my head, one thing becomes clear:

I’m not here by accident.

Someone has a plan for me.

And I’m not sure if I’m supposed to save the world…

Or burn it down.

🔥 The Magic of Dragons is a swoony, action-packed, closed-door romantasy for fans of Fourth Wing, Throne of Glass, and Shadow and Bone. Featuring dragon academies, magical rivalries, slow-burn romance, and a heroine armed with exactly zero chill—but plenty of sarcasm.

For readers who want epic fantasy… without the spice.

✔️ Enemies to lovers

✔️ Magical academy

✔️ Found family

✔️ Mystery subplot

✔️ Fae, witches, wolf shifters

✔️ Zero spice, maximum tension

Scroll up and one-click now to get your copy of this YA Fantasy read now!

“Kayla Whitman.”

My name echoes around the gym like a distant roar. I step forward, my feet sluggish, heavy—like I’m wading through water.

The applause reaches me in waves, distorted, too slow to be normal. My sights flicker over the sea of faces, watching me.

I sense their lips moving at a rapid speed behind cupped hands as heads turn to their neighbor.

Even though it’s impossible to hear the whispers, I can guess what they’re saying.

“That’s the girl from the plane crash.”

I swallow, curling my fingers into my sweaty palms and try to ignore the attention.

High School Graduation is supposed to be a moment of celebration. The end of one chapter and the beginning of a fresh one. It’s a day of relief, a day of hope.

I’m a survivor.

This is my moment to revel in that. I suck in a determined breath and hold out my hand as I approach the front of the line.

Mr. Sterling, the school Principal, hands me my scroll.

“Well done, Kayla,” his voice is warm as he clasps my hand but I feel cold.

No. Not cold. 

Numb.

My school counsellor told me grief does that.

My fingers curl around the scroll, but it feels wrong. Weightless. Like it belongs to someone else. I hear my name echoing through the gym again, distant and warbled, like it’s bouncing off water. The room is too bright. The crowd too loud. Or maybe too quiet? It’s hard to tell.

I force a smile and jerk my head in an awkward way to resemble a nod. When Professor Sterling’s hand releases mine, I catch a flash of emotion behind his eyes. His lips part, and for a second I think he’s going to say something. I wait, hoping for him to bestow some wisdom upon me.

Something to give me direction as I head into the unknown.

About what happens next?

But then–“Jackson Harper.”

And just like that, the eye contact is broken and I’m staggering off the stage to a happy ruckus. This time several people wolf whistle. Someone shouts,

“That’s my boy!”

I cast my sights over the crowd of people, propped up in chairs that had been set out just for the graduation. The gym still smells like rubber and sweaty socks. But it’s filled with loved ones, beaming at the line of new graduates.

Chloe, the valedictorian, gives a speech about taking on whatever new challenges life throws at us with a can-do attitude and a good sense of humor.

Her words echo in my brain like church bells.

I’m hoping that my future is not full of new challenges. To me, challenges just equal more trauma.

I prefer… boring.

Uneventful.

That sounds nice. Peaceful even.

The graduates in front of me whisper excitedly, sharing dreams of getting into a sorority at college, or traveling the world on a gap year.

All I want is a steady, monotonous routine to fill my days and enough money to keep a roof over my head and warm food in my belly. I don’t even need a partner. If I get lonely, I’ll rescue a cat.

When the ceremony is over, everyone files out of the double doors to the school grounds. Graduates are dotted about, surrounded by their loved ones as they take photos.

Teachers weave in and out of the bubbles of families, shaking hands and exchanging compliments to the parents for their shared work in getting the students to this point.

Then there’s me.

Alone.

I clutch my scroll, rolling on my heels and wondering when it will be socially appropriate to leave.

My eye catches Hollie, my…friend?

I lift my hand with a faint smile and for a splinter of a second I think she’s going to smile back. But her eyes dull and her gaze drops away from me. She returns her attention to her father who is speaking to Mr. Clark, our science teacher.

Probably discussing her plans to study microbiology at Princeton and how proud they both are of her achievements.

“Kayla.” 

I whip around under the weight of a hand pressing on my right shoulder. A strong waft of familiar perfume floods my nose and my stomach tightens. “Mrs. Murphy,” I say, trying and failing to smile. Instead, the left corner of my mouth twitches.

I’m not sure what’s worse; being alone for graduation. Or being seen in public with the school guidance counselor.

“Here,” she says, handing me a gold box wrapped with a black ribbon. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose then clasps her wrinkled hands in front of her pinstripe skirt. “I thought you’d appreciate the colors.”

I blink up at her with surprise. “You got me a present?” 

Mrs. Murphy waves a hand in the air like it was nothing. “Of course. I happen to know that it is not only your graduation…” She leans in close  to murmur in my ear. “Happy Birthday.”

I clutch the box like my life depends on it and my eyes prickle. 

“You didn’t need to get me a present,” I mumble back.

Mrs. Murphy’s wide nostrils flare then her thin lips disappear as she gives me an odd smile. “You’ve been through a lot this year. Most students would have dropped out of school long before now. But you stuck it out, and I’m proud of you. I want to give you a little something.”

Swallowing the emotion bubbling in my chest, I look at the gift in my hands. The silky black ribbon is a stark contrast to the golden box, perfectly reflecting my hair. 

Honey blonde, with a layer of black underneath.

Curiosity piqued, I unwrap the ribbon and lift the box lid. 

A flash of light blinds me for a second. I squint, then angle the box so the contents do not reflect the sunshine.

When my eyes adjust, I lift my brows at what’s inside.

“A dragon?” I say, inspecting the pendant.

A tiny red dragon with its tail curved to form an outer ring hangs delicately from a gold chain.

“The necklace is made of titanium metal, and the dragon is hand painted with a metallic red glaze, designed to catch the light just right.”

I run my thumb over the tiny creature’s curved tail, tracing the smooth metal before it dips into intricate scales. The craftsmanship is flawless, almost too perfect for something trivial.

Mrs. Murphy watches me closely, her gaze unreadable behind thin, silver-framed glasses. “I noticed you’d doodle dragons in your notebook during our sessions. I thought you’d like it,” she says, voice soft.

A swirl of guilt makes my stomach churn. I never paid much attention during our sessions, but I hadn’t realized I made it that obvious.

“I do like it,” I admit. “It’s just—”

Odd. Unexpected. The only gift I’m getting this year.

A lot of things.

But why is Mrs. Murphy still being nice when I’m always aloof and moody around her? 

A lump forms in my throat. I want to apologize for acting like an ungrateful jerk. For refusing to open up about my feelings, and wasting so much of her time during our compulsory sessions.

But I can’t. It’s impossible.

I settle for, “Thank you,” because anything else might break me right now.

Mrs. Murphy inclines her head like she understands, then shifts her weight as though debating whether to say something else.

I watch, as she nips her bottom lip and blinks rapidly. I can’t figure out if she’s trying to make a decision or just keeping her emotions at bay.

Maybe both.

In the end, she pats my arm with a nod. “Take care of yourself, Kayla.”

And with that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of graduates and their waiting families.

The sunny scene grows misty as my eyes flood with tears. But I refuse to let a single one fall. Not today. Not now.

I focus on my breathing, letting the world move around me, oblivious to my internal torture.

My family should be here.

My imagination opens up, letting me fall into an alternate timeline where my parents are standing side by side. My dad has his oversized camera raised to his eyes, while my mom is beaming at me. “Shelby, stand next to your sister.”

The air shifts and my red-haired, rosy cheeked sister joins me.

My breath hitches at the weight of her arm on across my shoulders.

“Cheese!”

The scene slowly fades like wisps of smoke, and the harsh sunlight casts a glow over my new reality. The school grounds are almost empty and the warm evening breeze ruffles my gown.

I shudder and hug myself.

Alone again.

Just like always.

Later that night, the smell of grilled cheese and grease clings to my uniform as I wipe down the counter at the diner. The clock on the wall reads 10:42 PM. My shift is almost over.

The door opens, and I glance up, my stomach tightening when I recognize a few familiar faces. 

Graduates. People I sat next to in class, who I once considered friends.

Of course they’re out celebrating. I’m probably the only one who didn’t take the night off to let my hair down.

The bell jingles as they step inside, laughter bouncing off the walls. But the second they see me, it cuts off. Not just awkwardness—something sharper. Like they forgot I existed until this moment and now don’t know what to do with the knowledge.

But the moment passes when one of the boys coughs and makes a joke. Shoulders relax and no one looks in my direction as they slide into a booth, talking and laughing, again.

Serving them is the last thing I want to do, but I’m the only one left on shift while Rob, works in the kitchen.

Sucking in a breath, I approach them and their conversation dies. Their gazes flick to me and then away, as if pretending I’m not there.

I clear my throat. "What can I get you?"

Silence stretches for a beat too long. Then, finally, Hollie—Hollie of all people—mutters, "Just a few root beers.”

I jot it down, forcing my hands not to shake. I knew people acted weird around me since the crash, but this? It feels like something else. Like I’m a ghost haunting my own life.

I hesitate before stepping away, glancing at them. "So... any big plans after graduation?"

They exchange glances, awkward smiles flickering before disappearing. "Uh, yeah. Chloe’s heading to UCLA," one of the guys says, rubbing the back of his neck. "And a bunch of us are doing a road trip before college starts."

"That sounds fun." I offer a small smile, though my throat tightens. "Where to?"

"Just, uh... around," Hollie says quickly, fiddling with a napkin. “To the East Coast, maybe."

I nod, though the tightness in my chest expands. She used to tell me everything. But now? She can’t even meet my eyes.

"Sounds great. Hope you guys have an amazing time." My voice comes out too light, too fake, but none of them call me out on it. They just nod, offering half-hearted smiles, as if that somehow makes up for the gaping space between us.

I turn on my heel, heading for the soda fountain, pretending I don’t feel their stares burning into my back.

How does a group of friends turn into strangers? Was it me? Did I freeze them out in the haze of grief and shock after the crash? Or were they just cowards, afraid to be near me in case grief was contagious and they got infected? 

Either way, the distance between us feels deliberate, like a chasm neither side is willing to bridge.

My muscles ache as I lay on my bed.

The launder mat below hums with the steady churn of washing machines, filling my tiny attic room with a familiar white noise. The ceiling slopes just above my head, the walls are bare except for a single shelf of secondhand books, and my unpacked suitcase sits in the corner, waiting for a plan I don’t have. 

This is my life now.

High school is over.

No more classes, no more structure. Just a job and bills and the terrifying uncertainty of what comes next.

I exhale and roll onto my side, despite my aches and pains, my brain is not letting me sleep. Mrs. Murphy’s gift sits on my bedside table. I reach for the box and open the lid once more. The dragon’s tiny eyes glint under the lamplight, daring me.

Mrs. Murphy was right. I do like dragons.

And I did doodle pictures of them during our sessions, but I never thought she was that observant, after all, I thought I’d been subtle about it.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve always been fascinated by stories of mythological beasts. Dragons were both feared and revered in cultures around the world. But I always associated them with wisdom and protection.

People have often said that dragons are not real. But I have to question, how could there be so many ancient writings and drawings of such beasts, even when it was not common for people to travel all around the world?

The hairs on my arms stand on end as a memory flashes before me.

One that haunts my dreams and lingers in the back of my mind during the day. The day my life turned upside down and I went from grumpy teenage daughter and sister, to depressed orphan.

I’m trapped with my seatbelt stuck, pinning me to my seat in my dad’s plane. Fire blazes all around me, dancing in front of my eyes and licking my body in a way that feels… freezing.

My lungs scream under the choking stench of smoke and burning flesh.

Then, a shadow in the shape of a huge dinosaur with wings.

I hesitate, staring at the dragon pendant once more, admiring the way it catches the lamplight in an almost ethereal way. As my heart makes an all-too-common throbbing sensation in my chest, I yank on the pendant then loop the chain around my neck.

The metal is cool at first. But the moment the pendant touches my skin, heat lances through my chest.

Heat.

Not warm. Holy crap it’s HOT.

Too hot.

Scalding.

A breath seizes in my lungs as a sharp, searing pain claws through my chest. My fingers fly to the necklace.

But it won’t budge.

I choke, clawing at the chain, but it’s fused to me—no, sinking into me. A sound rises in my ears, something between a whisper and a roar. My vision swims, the room warping. And then—blackness.

When I wake, I’m on the floor. My skin is slick with sweat, my breath ragged, my heart thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

I push myself up on shaking arms, wincing at the dull ache in my chest.

My body is tingling, and there’s a pressure rising to my head making my temples throb.

The heat is still unbearable, I stagger to the small basin in the corner of my room and splash cold water over my face. The drops leave an icy trail down my neck and when I swipe them away, the absence of metal has me pause.

I pat around my collarbone feeling for the necklace. But my fingers only collide with flesh and bone.

I squint in the dim light at my reflection.

Then I see it.

The necklace is gone.

Instead, something dark and metallic gleams on my skin.

I scramble to yank on the light cord and take a closer look.

A black and red tattoo-like mark is etched into my skin.

I lift trembling fingers to my collarbone, tracing the raised, ink-black outline of a dragon, its tail curled into a perfect circle—just like the pendant.

I swallow hard. My pulse pounding in my ears.

What the heck?

My gaze snaps to the bedside table, where the box still sits.

With unsteady hands, I reach for it, flipping open the lid.

Nestled inside the velvet lining, a single slip of paper waits, folded neatly in half.

I unfold it. My breath catches as I read the words scrawled in sharp, precise ink:

Theridon Academy of Dragon Riders

Official Summons

To Miss Kayla Prue Whitman,

It is with great honor that we extend to you an invitation to Theridon, the esteemed Academy of Dragon Riders. You have been selected for enrollment based on extraordinary potential.

Your escort will arrive no later than 3:00 AM to ensure your safe passage to the Academy. You are required to gather your belongings and be prepared for immediate departure.

Classes commence on Monday. 

A new chapter awaits you—one of strength, courage, and fire.

Welcome to Theridon.

May your wings carry you beyond the stars.

King Siberious

Headmaster at Theridon Academy of Dragon Riders

A shiver races down my spine as I mouth the words several times, trying to make them imprint in my brain. But they slip through my mind like grains of sand between my fingers.

Dragon Rider Academy… Is this a joke?

I run a hand down my face, still trembling. This has to be a prank. Or a mistake. Or maybe—just maybe—I finally lost my mind.

But the words won’t change no matter how many times I blink at them.

Theridon Academy of Dragon Riders.

At this point, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I’ve either truly turned insane, or someone is playing a cruel trick on me.

A tap on the door jolts me out of my daze and I glance at the clock.

2:57 AM.

A floorboard creaks somewhere in the hall and my heart stops.

Someone is already here.

-- End of Chapter One.

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