Part 1:
The Coming Storm
 Camp Pennalt: Year 2 of the Seventh Umbral Era - Morning
  He had never been able to pin down exactly what color her hair was. Most days he was sure that it was chestnut brown, but on the rare days that the sun was able to penetrate the clouds he swore it was closer to auburn. She always wore the same blue headscarf that wrapped around the crown of her head but let her long hair hang down to her lower back. Her face was the most animated face he’d ever seen on a woman, making each of her expressions seem more genuine than anyone else’s. Her smiles always felt long and drawn out, and would have seemed almost devious if everything about her wasn’t so perfect. She was a weaver by trade, and spent most of her days working her father’s stall despite the weather. When it was very cold she would hum to herself through chattering teeth and play with her breath as it dissipated in front of her face. She always brought the same book with her to read, though she would never read more than a page or two before putting it down and finding something else to distract her.
  He’d noticed all of these things about her, though he still didn’t know her name. He’d imagined himself hopping down from his comfortable rooftop perch and striding towards her with immeasurable confidence several times a day. He never did though, and even he wasn’t sure why. He was not the shy type, and he was not particularly uncomfortable talking to women, but for some reason he could never get himself to make the jump down to talk to her. The most infuriating part of the entire thing was that he didn’t even know how he felt about this nameless girl. He’d had crushes before, and was pretty sure that he’d even been in love once, but something about this woman stirred a mixture of emotions within him that he was very unaccustomed to. As frustrating as it was however, he had never once thought to stop watching her every chance he got.
  Snow fell, as it almost always did in Camp Pennalt this time of year, slowly but persistently. Snowflakes danced on the gusts of winds around the young girl as she crossed the courtyard with several bolts of cloth under her arm. The gusts of wind howled as they weaved and pushed through walls and buildings, adding an eerie ambiance to the everyday sounds city. From his rooftop perch the sounds of the wind overrode the noises below, the wind faster and wilder from his elevated vantage point. It was almost deafening, the mixture of gusts and lulls sounding like erratic wing beats. Then the wind stopped for a moment, but the sound did not. A blood curdling roar pierced the air, followed by a cacophony of weaker but still frightening roars.
  Cries from the people below soon filled the air, though the volume of theirs paled to the shrieks of the incoming dragons. Flynt had prepared for this moment for years; first at the Monastery of the Holy Spear, and after the Calamity training to become a true Dragoon of Ishgard. None of this however had prepared him for the reality of a dragon assault. He watched the flight of dragons as they drove towards Camp Pennalt, black dots growing ever lager against an overcast sky.
  “Dragoons!â€A voice boomed from atop a nearby church’s steeple. Captain Calieur stood tall, his violet armor both striking and menacing.
  “Of the Sky!†He shouted as he shot from the steeple through the air and landed on a rooftop not far from Flynt’s.
Dragoons began to shoot out from various positions within the town, like arrows fired straight up by many different archers.
  “Of the Sky!†Flynt found himself shouting will the rest of his unit, the chant something that had been engrained in them all throughout their training.
  Captain Calieur shot forward, bounding from rooftop to rooftop, spear in hand. The rest of Flynt’s unit followed close behind, as they moved towards the walls of the city and the ever approaching Dravanian horde.
  “From the Sky!†Captain Calieur bellowed, his voice still audible over the powerful winds and distance.
  “From the Sky!†the rest of the dragoons yelled in reply. Flynt shot a quick glance behind him to see the rest of his unit. They all leapt and bounded above the city and its people, and Flynt knew that they gave people hope as they shot passed them overhead.
  He could see them now, he could see his foe. There were roughly a hundred of them, the majority of their forces being smaller to mid-sized Aevis and Wyverns. This would have been daunting enough, only due to their ability to raze the land below and overwhelm Flynt’s unit with sheer numbers. Behind and above them however was the real threat; a true dragon. It was easily the size of twenty of the smaller Aevis, its powerful obsidian wings almost half the length of the rest that flew below him. Fear shot through him like an electric current as he bounded towards snapping jaws and gnashing fangs. He’d fought Aevis and Wyverns before, but never anything on this scale, anything this... hopeless.
  The creatures were less than hundred yalms from the town’s wall, the pounding of their wings and their horrible screams reverberating in Flynt’s chest. Every thought screamed for him to stop, to run and hide, to stay alive. He was no hero, he was not as brave as the others who prepared to fight and die around him.
“A hero is no braver than any other person Flynt,†A familiar voice inside him said over the thoughts of fear, “A hero is simply braver five minutes longer.â€
 Â
  The words steeled his mind, and he pressed forward through the fear.
  “For the Sky!†Captain Calieur shouted, his defiance made obvious by the sheer volume and intensity of his battle cry. The Captain then shot straight up, high into the air, and Flynt and the rest of the Dragoons followed suit. The dragons passed over the wall, but quickly craned their necks upward, knowing the steps of this particular dance.
 Â
  Flynt adjusted his position in the air as his ascent slowed. This was always his favorite part of a jump, the brief moment of weightlessness that existed between his rise and fall. He contorted his body as he felt the weightlessness end, his body straight as an arrow as he began to descend towards the ground head first.His spear was pinned tightly to his left, an extension of his body that protruded a few feet in front of him. He turned his head slightly to see the other Dragoons who fell with him. Again, they looked like arrows to him, now falling fast instead of launching upward... And only a single thing could fit in his mind.
"For the Sky."
 Sylastair Wolfhart Wiki