"So, lad," Finnegan said as they walked back to the barracks, "how exactly do you plan on managin' a dragon with no coin to your name? Not to mention helpin' your old man?"

"I've got a plan," Pryce said. "There's this wealthy fellow in town, Gavin Brooks. I'm going to ask him for a loan."

Finnegan's bushy eyebrows shot up. "A loan? For what?"

"To rebuild the barracks, fix up the old Swiftwind, and get everything I need to train Stormwing. I'll tell him how having a friendly dragon will protect Crystal Shores from marauders. It's a win-win."

"And your father?"

Pryce swallowed hard. "I'm old enough to make my own way now. Dad should understand that. He can hire someone to take my place at the docks and on the Blue Horizon."

"Now, hold on there, lad. Your pa might not have the means to hire help. And trainin' a dragon? That's no small feat, especially for someone who's never even been around the beasts before."

The old man's words stung. "Will you help me, Finnegan? I know you can't do much, but any advice would be helpful."

"Aye, I'll do what I can. But how do you plan on payin' back this Gavin character?"

"I could . . . I could sell my dragon training skills!"

"To who? There ain't no other dragons around these parts."

"Then I'll sell rides! People would love that, wouldn't they?"

Finnegan stroked his beard, considering. "It might work, but . . . Shorlings are scared of dragons now. Funny thing is, we used to be the best dragon trainers in all of Dragontide. But that was long ago, and no one remembers it anymore."

As they neared the barracks, Kai, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up. "You know, Pryce, my uncle always says, 'The bravest step is the first one.' Maybe this is your chance to remind Crystal Shores of its heritage."

As they reached the barracks, everyone had already packed and was heading out to the ship.

Finnegan left the doctor's bag behind, and they made their way to the vessel. The journey back to the village was filled with unspoken worries and half-formed plans.

As they disembarked, Pryce turned to his father. "Dad, I'll be along shortly. I need to talk to someone about a dragon training loan."

Tyler's face clouded with concern. "Pryce, don't go getting yourself into debt over a dragon. We should take it to a far-off island and leave it there."

"No," Pryce said firmly. "I can't do that. I won't."

Finnegan cleared his throat. "I reckon Gavin's staying at the Rusty Anchor Inn, lad."

As the others dispersed—Finnegan and Tyler heading home, the crew going their separate ways, and Kai rushing back to his father's smithy—Pryce found himself alone as he set off toward the Rusty Anchor Inn.

But fate had other plans. As he rounded a corner, Pryce caught sight of Gordan Flintjaw, the bully who'd tormented him for years. Gordan wasn't alone; his equally unpleasant friend Dirk lurked nearby.

Pryce tried to slip past unnoticed, but Gordan's eyes locked onto him. "Well, well." Gordan sauntered over with Dirk in tow. "If it isn't the village weakling. Where you off to in such a hurry, Harper-Green? Running home to mommy?"

"Leave me alone, Gordan." Pryce tried to sidestep the larger boy.

But Gordan wasn't having it. He shoved Pryce hard, sending him stumbling. "What's the matter? Can't take a little rough-housing?"

As Pryce regained his balance, he felt something slip from his back pocket. His book. Gordan snatched it up, a cruel grin spreading across his face.

"What's this? A book?" Gordan laughed, holding it just out of Pryce's reach. "Look at the softshell, Dirk. Probably full of fairy tales and love poems."

"I'm not a softshell," Pryce said, lunging for the book.

But Dirk was quicker. He grabbed it from Gordan and began tearing pages out and tossing them into the air. "Oops. Looks like your precious book is falling apart."

Pryce felt something snap inside him. "You ignorant piece of shark bait!" he spat at Dirk. "That book's worth more than your entire future!"

The words had barely left his mouth when Gordan's fist connected with his jaw. Pryce staggered back, stars exploding in his vision. He swung wildly, but Gordan easily dodged the clumsy punch.

"Aw, look at the little fighter," Gordan taunted. "Maybe if you spent less time with your nose in a book, you'd know how to throw a proper punch."

Before Pryce could respond, another blow caught him square in the face. He hit the ground hard, too dazed to move. Through blurry eyes, he watched Gordan and Dirk amble away, their laughter echoing in his ringing ears.

A shadow fell over him, and a concerned voice cut through the haze. "By the tides, lad, are you alright?"

Pryce blinked, focusing on the face of a middle-aged man kneeling beside him. The stranger offered a handkerchief, which Pryce gratefully accepted, dabbing at the blood trickling from his nose.

"I'm fine," Pryce said, wincing as he sat up.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Those boys have been trouble for years. Want me to have a word with your father about this?"

"No." Pryce said quickly. The last thing he needed was for his dad to think he couldn't handle himself. "Really, I'm okay. Thank you for the hankie."

The man looked skeptical but nodded. "Keep it, lad. You might need it again."

As the stranger walked away, Pryce hauled himself to his feet, his body aching and his pride stinging worse than his split lip. He gathered what remained of his book, shoving the tattered pages into his pocket before continuing his journey to the Rusty Anchor Inn.

The smell hit him first—a pungent smell of cheap perfume, and spilled ale. Pryce had never set foot in a place like this before, and he felt woefully out of place among the rough-looking patrons and scantily clad serving girls.

Swallowing his nervousness, he approached the counter. The man behind it eyed him suspiciously. "You look like you've been through the wringer, boy. What happened to your face?"

Pryce ignored the question. "My name's Pryce and I'm looking for Gavin Brooks."

"Mr. Brooks doesn't see anyone without an appointment, and I don't see your name on the list, kid."

"Please. It's important. Can you at least tell me which room he's in?"

The man snorted. "He's in 2B, but you're not going up there. Mr. Brooks doesn't do business with children. Come back in a few years."

Pryce felt his frustration mounting. "Can't you just ask him if he'll see me?"

"Listen, boy, I told you to leave. Now scram before I—"

"Is there a problem here?" A sultry voice cut through the tension. Pryce turned to see a young woman in a dress that left little to the imagination. She smiled at him, her eyes kind despite her rough appearance. "You looking for someone, honey?"

Pryce nodded. "Gavin Brooks. I need to speak with him urgently."

The woman's smile widened. "Gavin? I can take you to him."

The man behind the counter sputtered. "Now see here, Rosie, Mr. Brooks—"

"Oh, hush," Rosie waved him off. "Follow me, sweetie. I'll get you sorted."

As they climbed the narrow staircase, Rosie chatted amiably. "So, what's a nice boy like you doing looking for old Gavin, hm? You're not in any trouble, are you?"

Pryce shook his head. "No, ma'am. I just have a business proposition for him."

"I see," Rosie said, but she didn't press further. They reached a door marked 2B, and she rapped her knuckles against it. "Gavin? You've got a visitor."

A muffled voice called from inside. "Come in."

Rosie pushed the door open and ushered Pryce inside. "This young man says he has some important business to discuss with you."

Gavin Brooks was a well-dressed man in his forties, with sharp eyes that took in Pryce's disheveled appearance. "Looks like you've had quite the day, lad. What happened to your face?"

Pryce straightened his spine. "Just a misunderstanding, sir. Nothing important. I'm here because I have a business proposition for you."

Gavin gestured to an armchair. "Is that so? Well, have a seat then. Can I offer you a drink?"

The casual offer of alcohol caught Pryce off guard. "Uh, no thank you, sir."

Gavin poured himself a glass of amber liquid and settled into the chair opposite Pryce. "So, what's this offer of yours?"

Pryce took a deep breath. "Sir, you've heard about the dragon that fell from the sky, right?"

Gavin nodded, his interest clearly piqued. "Of course. Quite the tale."

"Well," Pryce continued, his words tumbling out in a rush, "I've . . . I've bonded with it. The dragon, I mean. And I want to train it, but I need funds to rebuild the old barracks on the Island of Emberfall, and to get proper equipment like a saddle and reins."

Gavin's eyes widened, then narrowed thoughtfully. "That's quite the ambitious plan, young man. But how exactly do you intend to repay such a loan?"

Pryce leaned forward. "I could offer dragon rides! People would pay good money for that, wouldn't they?"

To Pryce's dismay, Gavin burst out laughing. "Dragon rides? My boy, the people of Crystal Shores are terrified of dragons. I doubt you'd find many takers. Besides, you haven't even trained this dragon yet, have you? Do you have any experience with dragon training?"

Pryce's heart sank. "Well, no, but I'm sure I can train Stormwing. I've read all about it."

Gavin's expression softened slightly. "Listen, lad. I admire your spirit, but this is far too risky an investment for me." He drained his glass and set it aside. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Come back when you've actually trained that dragon, and maybe we can talk business then."

Pryce felt the weight of disappointment settle in his chest. He'd been so sure this would work. As he stood to leave, he realized he was back at square one, with a dragon to care for and no means to do so.