“Hurry, Mother," said young Milius impatiently. “We're going to miss it at this rate!”

“I'll be just a moment, dear,” came Milius’s mother's, Minerva’s, weak and exhausted voice from inside the hut.

Milius bounced up and down on the balls of his bare feet, swinging his arms and staring intently at the mass of people rushing towards Knight's Square. Everyone was dressed in their best garments, for it was a special day. In fact, it was the most special day. Milius too was dressed in his best attire, a long red cloak with silver stars embroidered into it. It was nice, but the visual effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that it was worn out. Still, he did not care. The excitement he had for the day’s events drove any concern for his look out of his mind entirely.

“Mother!” he repeated.

“You know, this could go much faster if you actually helped me," she replied. He rolled his eyes and began to stare at the roads again. The people were moving much faster than before, and his jaw dropped as his eyes fixed upon what was clearly the reason why. Four enormous dragons, one blood-red, one electric-blue, one grass-green, and one geranium-purple, were soaring overhead, each one carrying a single rider.

Milius dashed into the hut and found his mother, sitting in a wooden chair in the kitchen. Minerva was a kind-faced woman with long, withered, black hair. At the moment she looked very tired. She was slumped against the chair, her head drooping slightly. A glass kettle filled with a lilac substance was in front of her and a wooden spoon was clasped in her hands.

“How many have you taken?” Milius asked softly.

“Two," she croaked.

He gently pulled the spoon from her grip, placed it in the kettle and withdrew a spoonful of the substance, then fed it to her. Colour flushed in her cheeks. Her eyes opened fully, and suddenly she jerked upright, no longer looking tired. It was as though life itself had passed through her.

“Well, shall we?” she said, smiling.

Milius gripped her hand, pulled her to her feet, and together they set off. The streets that were so tightly packed only minutes ago were now completely deserted. The dragons had disappeared from sight, and all was silent.

“It's started,” said Minerva. “Oh Milius, go on ahead of me.”

“What?” Milius said, a look of incredulity twisting his features. “I can't just —"

“You must," she said firmly. “I've been fortunate enough to witness the Knighting Ceremony twice in my life. I will not allow you to miss your first because of me. Go. Go!”

She pried Milius’s hands off of her. With one last, sad look at his mother, he turned tail and sprinted down the street, feeling elated but somewhat ashamed of himself.

“I’ll catch up soon!” she called after him, but he did not look back or answer. The excitement he had earlier had returned, and it had constricted his chest — he couldn't speak even if he wanted to. The cheering and applause from the people ahead of him came into hearing as he approached. He had missed the beginning, but maybe he could see the ending; he was so close now. Just a little farther…

He burst through the golden gates, trying desperately not to crash into anyone as he clumsily came to a halt. He stood on tiptoe, craning his head to see. There ahead of him were the large and magnificent dragons perched benevolently on an enormous wooden stage, where five men stood, four holding the famous jewel-encrusted swords. All were identical except for the various carvings and jewels embedded in their hilts.

He had only missed one. The ruby encrusted sword, Vulcatrix, and the red dragon — an enormous salamander-like being covered in long, thick spines with a barbed tail — had been passed on to a man Milius knew all too well. His own cousin, Sirius, wearing a smug smile and puffing his chest out importantly.

Sirius was the only young man on the platform. The other four were ancient and withered, as though a strong enough breeze would blow them to dust. One stepped forward…

He held the emerald-hilted sword. “It is time for the noble blade Stormpyre to be passed on," he said. His voice was surprisingly strong for how he looked. “I entrust this emerald hilt… to Ariana, of House Worler.” The crowd exploded into applause. Ariana Worler, a tall but squat girl with dark red hair, made her way onto the platform. She took the blade in her hands and knelt, then she rose and faced the large green dragon. It was covered in feathers and its snout looked like a beak, making it largely resemble an enormous, monstrous bird. It bowed.

The man with the sapphire-hilted sword stepped forward, and silence fell immediately. His voice was weak and hoarse, but the crowd caught every word he said. “The handsome blade Oceannerva was passed onto me quite some time ago... Being the Sapphire Knight was one of the best things that could have possibly happened to me: it raised me from a life of sadness and disgrace, and gave me honour and power. Now, I pass it on… to Shakil of House Bloom.”

There was a second explosion of noise, even louder than Ariana’s. Shakil, a young, handsome man with light brown hair and a broad chest, made his way up. He took the blade, knelt, and faced the blue dragon, which looked like a winged sea serpent. It looked at him for a while, then sunk into a low bow.

Milius was screaming as loudly as the rest, but stopped immediately when the man holding the final sword, the amethyst-hilted blade, stepped forward. His voice was faint, but like the second speaker, they caught every word. He smiled. “My fellow Knights have said plenty so far, and so I think you'd be quite contented with not hearing any more of an old man's rambling.” The crowd laughed. “I'll get to it. The honourable amethyst-hilted blade, Palpatunde, changed my life for the better. Now, I pass it on… Milius of House Manchester, if you please.”

There was no eruption of noise. No applause. The Square was completely, and utterly quiet. All faces turned upon Milius, who felt as though he had shrunken several feet in the past few seconds. The old man, as though he read Milius’s mind, spoke again. “There has been no mistake, my boy. Come.” And he held out a bony hand.

Milius wandered on stage, passing through the silent crowd, heart pounding. He stopped in front of the old man, his eyes still on the crowd. His mother had now joined, her hand over her heart, her expression of the utmost terror. He turned to the old man. The other Knights, the dragons, and even the other old men were staring at him, their expressions blank. He handed him the sword, and Milius, shell-shocked, took it, and knelt.

“The new generation of Dragonknights!” the old man bellowed. No one clapped, or cheered, or made a single sound. Milius got to his feet and, following the other Knights, turned to the final dragon. It appeared to be a living statue; it seemed to be made of a purple, uneven stone. Two large plates stuck out of its head like antennas. It stared at him too, its gaze distinctly cold and, if possible, confused.

It moved forward, and Milius, scenting danger, raised his sword. But the dragon merely bowed to him. There was a long, uncomfortable pause. Then, slow and scattered claps, which eventually, to Milius’s great relief, turned into the third explosion of noise he'd heard so far.