Free Dragons vs. Drones by Wesley King

trudged down the street toward city center, disheartened and bitter. She had spent yesterday flying on the back of a dragon, and today she was going to go back to the forge to grovel at Master Wilhelm for her underpaid job back. Well, that or beg someone else to take her on instead. She had a feeling Wilhelm wouldn’t be overly forgiving.
    Even though I’m twice the welder he is
, she thought.
    Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t even thought to grab breakfast before she left. There wouldn’t have been much to choose from: stale bread, moldy potatoes, or a mash of wheat and grains called lavash that her mom made, but it was better than nothing. She certainly didn’t have the money to go buy anything from one of themerchants or vendors in the market. And that was before she was fired.
    As she approached downtown Dracone—the raucous morning noise already echoing around her—she looked around, envious of her surroundings. Dracone became progressively nicer as one headed downtown, where the houses were large and manicured and every now and then an enormous mansion was perched on the side of the street, gleaming and palatial. Metal was the new trend now, forged into massive doors and pillars or slapped against wood and brick for no reason. It was the hot new material—it was the future.
    The mills and forges were churning out new products, and the people loved it.
    The mansions Dree passed housed the wealthy citizens of Dracone. These were the new capitalists who invested in roads and bonds and traded in the thriving dragon market: fangs and scales and even great black hearts, which were thought to bring power to those who ate them. It was disgusting, but it was the way things were now.
    It didn’t used to be like this. Dracone’s elite used to be royals or generals, and especially the old dragon-rider families, like Dree’s, whose riches had been passed down for generations. They were respected and generous—they cared about the poor and built schools and hospitals. There was a thriving middle class back then, and the ancient families felt responsible for the city and its people, working with the king to ensure that food and water were available for everyone. Now Dracone’s most powerful citizens were thebusinesspeople who cared only about money. The downtown core thrived, while the poor slums were forgotten. For the downtrodden, there was nothing but rats and fetid lake water.
    Dree watched as a woman walked past, wearing an onyx chest plate and twin fang earrings. Half of her hair was shaved off, and the other half was dyed crimson. If she noticed Dree, she didn’t show it. The rich didn’t look at the poor, unless it was with disdain or annoyance, like how they might look at an inconveniently placed puddle.
    Dree scowled, her mood darkening. Why should she be the ignored one? She could ride dragons and had fire in her skin—she should have been a rider instead of a beggar.
    Her eyes fell on the great mountains in the distance. If it wasn’t for Abi, she would leave right now. She would live with Lourdvang in the mountains and forget about everything down in Dracone. But she had a family to take care of.
    As she walked, Dree looked with disdain at some of the wooden stands that had been set up in the more suburban areas—obviously by merchants hoping to catch the wealthy citizens on their way to work. Her eyes fell on one large stand in particular, and she stopped immediately. Without thinking, she stormed over, enraged.
    A bowl was perched there, catching the rays of the morning sun and sparkling magnificently. It looked to have been forged of several pieces of gold, overlapping one another, not quite creating a smooth surface. When she picked it up, the bowl was extremely heavy and as hard as iron. She knew it. It wasn’t made of gold, it was made of dragon scales.
    â€œDo you have the money for that bowl, girl?” the merchant, a