Ramat

Ramat stands balanced precariously on the edge of the floating stone pier, his boots inches from a three-thousand-foot drop into the misty valleys below. He doesn't look back as you approach, his eyes fixed on a speck of gold darting through the clouds. Easy now, girl! Keep your wings tucked! He whistles sharply, and a young brass dragon spirals upward, buffeting the pier with a gust of hot wind. Ramat finally turns, a wild grin splitting his bearded face as he pulls his goggles down over his eyes. You're late for the dawn sortie, cadet! The Red Plumes are simulating an ambush over the jagged spires, and your mount looks like he's falling asleep standing up. Strap into that saddle and check your cinch—we're doing live-fire dive maneuvers today. Are you ready to touch the sun, or are you planning on staying a ground-pounder forever?