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dragonridersandhighlords · 3 months ago

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Chasing Shadows | O N E

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Conscription Day has arrived and Wrenley is already ready for the day to be over. Xaden and Wren get a Conscription Day redo. First Day of classes and Wren has about had it with Dain. Violet shows off her scribe knowledge in Battle Brief, Wren notices Xaden knows an awful lot about the current attacks. The squad makes it to sparring and Violet gets hurt. The marked one’s meet under an old tree that night and make plans to help all 41 kids survive.

Word Count: 11k

Series Warnings: smut 18+ MDNI (begins in prologue) , violence, death, swearing, torture

Chapter Specific Warnings: p in v, Xaden definitely has a rank kink maybe a size kink?, oral (f recieving), fingering

previous part

It was a cloud-covered sky over us as I leaned against the cool stone of the turret balcony, the final step before many candidates today would either join the Riders Quadrant or plummet to their death. Conscription Day was finally upon us.

I watched as Xaden paced the length of his side of the balcony, brows furrowed and jaw clenched– a reflection of the weight his promotion to Wingleader bore on his shoulders. I offer him a small smile when I catch his gaze flickering to meet mine. He offers it back before retreating back to his mask. The ache in my chest that started this morning intensified as I thought of the paths we had all taken.

My cousin, Garrick, now Flame Section Leader, and Bodhi, with his expertise, elevated to Executive Officer for Tail Section. They would remain together in the Fourth Wing while I found myself thrust into the chaos of Flame Section Second Wing, tasked with the honor of serving under Squad Leader Dain fucking Aetos.

Dain and I haven’t held a civil conversation since that night we sat in Violet’s room until the earlier hours. I spent 3 weeks with kitchen duty because when Dain had said Violet called for me, he lied. Worth it, I reminded myself, knowing that I was able to be there when she needed a friend most.

As the candidates began to arrive, each announcing their name with a mixture of hope and trepidation, I steeled myself. I had learned not to watch after an hour and the horrors my precognition signet revealed. Of the 20 candidates that passed, 9 have fallen. I foresaw 7 of them falling from the parapet and then listened to their screams, the other 2 were marked ones. It was a cruel twist of fate that the relics blocking Melgren’s signet seemed to have the same effect on me. I chose to zone out, letting the second-year beside me take the responsibility of recording names. But then, amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces, a flash of blonde hair caught my eye, drawing me from my thoughts.

“Liam,” His name leaves me with a sigh, my voice lightening the weight of the moment as he turns to face me. I pull him into a quick hug, feeling the warmth of his spirit against mine, and I can’t help but smile. Unlike the other marked ones here today, Liam has been rigorously trained for this very moment, and deep down, I know he doesn’t need any last-minute advice from me. “I’ll see you on the other side.” He offers a silent nod, determination setting into his gaze as he begins to make his way across the expansive stone parapet.

With a lingering glance, I watch him go, ensuring he touches the soft grass on the other side before I turn back to the turret.

“See you two on the other side!” A boy ahead of me calls out, his enthusiasm infectious. He steps boldly onto the parapet, arms wide. I can feel the air shift as another vision rings through my head.

“You need to calm yourself, Wise One. Your power is going haywire.” Desa’s voice cuts through the fear circulating my mind.

“You stand here and watch as people die one by one.”

“You know it wouldn’t affect me the way you’re letting it.”

We can’t all be perfect, I mock her to myself.

“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” Xaden nods and motions for the next candidate.

“You ready for this, Sorrengail?” A girl’s voice breaks in, drawing both Xaden’s and my attention. We both snap our heads to her, and the words tumble out before I can rein them in.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Good to see you too, Wrenley.” Violet’s eyes remain locked on Xaden, unwavering, as if he were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Earth to Violet,” I interject, my concern sharpening my tone and she turns to me. “You were supposed to be a scribe!”

“Mom had other ideas.” She shrugs, her nonchalance like a shield.

“You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest.” It’s not a question but an accusation that escapes Xaden’s lips. The tension thickens, tightening around us like a noose.

“You’re Fen Riorson’s son.” Violet counters, her gaze fierce, returning to lock with Xaden’s.

“She’s not her mother, and she’s my friend. Don’t kill her.”

The muscles in Xaden’s jaw tense, his breath coming in slow, measured pulls. I can’t tell by the way he’s glaring a hole through Violet if he heard me or if he’s ignoring our open channel.

“Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution.” His words hang heavy between us, a bitter reminder of the past.

“Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.” Violet’s voice is defiant, but I can sense the quiver of uncertainty underneath. Wait–

“Hardly.”

“Fen killed Brennan?” My gaze flicked toward Xaden.

“So the Sorrengails say. We were otherwise occupied with getting all the children as far away from Aretia as possible.” Oh he’s got selective hearing now?

“Shit, Wren, your arm.” Violet gasps, drawing my attention down.

Instinctively, I glanced at the relic. Right, I had been wearing sleeves the last time she saw me. I shrug it off. “My dad was a part of the rebellion.”

“I’m sorry, Wren. I don’t remember much of your dad, but he seemed like he was a good man.” Her voice softens, a gentle smile breaking through the tension.

“He was.” I feel the ache of memories welling up, a bittersweet pang that lingers in the air. See, Dain? That’s how you talk to your friend who watched her dad get executed. “Nice leathers.” I say, quickly changing the subject. “Mira?”

“Mira.” Violet nods, her voice barely breaking above the steady patter of rain that begins to fall, each drop a soft percussion against the stone parapet.

“You alright?” Violet’s friend asks, glancing between Violet, Xaden, and I, brow furrowed in concern.

“You’re friends?” Xaden questions, his tone laced with intrigue.

“We met on the stairs.”

“Interesting,” he replies coolly, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes as he gazes at their mismatched shoes.

“Mind of a scribe.” I don’t even realize I spoke it through the bond until Xaden’s response comes

“Indeed.” He’s acting weird. This can’t just be about Violet being here.

“Are you going to kill me?” Violet asks, her voice steady but I can see the worry in the way she’s holding herself.

The sky opens up and rain begins to fall in a steady pour when Xaden moves to answer but a scream pierces through the tension. We all turn to catch the last cadet slip, fingers gripping to the side of the parapet.

“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” Violet’s friend shouts, urgency lacing her words as she steps forward

“It's too slippery,” I sigh, knowing exactly what's about to come.

“I know.”

“Oh gods!” I hear Violet gasp, the horror palpable as Dylan’s grip falters, and he slips, the silence of the world around us consumed by the cacophony of the rain and wind.

I turn away, blocking out what’s left of his screams as they dissolve into the storm, only to catch Xaden’s voice, cold and indifferent. “Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?”

Violet’s friend, Rihannon Matthias as she now states for the record, steps forward, determination etched into her features.

“Good luck.” I mutter as she steps onto the stones.

The second year cadet asks for a name and Violet recites hers. Yet, as the words tumble out, I find myself entranced by Xaden’s movements. His posture is rigid as the rain increases.

“Are you okay?” I question.

“Fine.” Xaden's response is clipped, the edge of irritation barely veiled beneath his casual facade.

The cadet beside me says something to Violet and she responds with a hint of annoyance. For such a small girl, she’s always had a bit of an attitude.

My attention is magnetized to Violet as she begins her cautious trek across the slick stones, each step deliberate yet graceful. A fierce gust of wind roars through, rattling the parapet and setting her momentarily off balance. My breath hitches in my throat as I watch straightens her back and realign her feet.

"And you think you'll be able to ride? Some Sorrengail, with that kind of balance. I pity whatever wing you end up with," a voice sneers, cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Name?”

"Jack Barlowe," he shoots back, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. “Remember the name. I'm going to be Wingleader one day.” His proclamation echoes, brimming with arrogance, and a loud snort escapes me before I can suppress it. Xaden’s eyes carry his amusement at my reaction.

“I’d like to throw this jackass off,” I send through the channel and Jack starts to try and distract Violet when he starts walking across.

Xaden loudly laughs, tugging my smile wider as another candidate steps up.

Barely two hours into this ordeal, and I’m already yearning for an end so we can spend time just for us.

“Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek’s voice boomed over the assembly, cutting through the damp chill. The second and third years stood in rigid formation beside our section leaders, their faces set in masks of stoicism. Near the dais, the Wingleaders loomed, their presence imposing against the backdrop of darkened skies. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”

The realization struck me like a chill wind, and I meet Xaden’s eyes at the front. “Sixty-seven?”

He subtly nods without responding.

As the official spoke again, I caught fragments of Dain’s muttered mantra, the rehearsed speech that echoed through the years like a ritualistic incantation. Unable to resist I report Dain’s actions to my boyfriend

“Such a kiss ass,” he laughs through our bond and I chuckle under my breath, drawing Dain’s attention to me. I keep facing forward and eventually my Squad Leader turns back.

“Your instructors will teach you. It's up to you how well you learn,” the commandant continued, the finality of the declaration hanging in the air like a challenge.

“There’s so many things I’d rather be doing right now than listening to this speech,” I feel the smirk he’s currently boasting.

“Oh really? Should we repeat last Conscription Day? I’ll sneak up to your room again.” The playful challenge slipped across my mind, teasing the thread of our bond with memories of our stolen moments in his room.

“I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section Leaders and Squad Leaders, take your positions.”

“Oh saved by the bell,” I laughed, shaking off the tension as I stepped into place beside Dain. Then Nyra starts calling the squad and new cadets

“When I get you alone, no bell is saving you.” Xaden’s words dripped with playful mischief, his smirk sending a warmth through me as he moved closer to Nyra, the teasing undertone hanging in the air between us like a spark just waiting for a flame.

“Second Squad! Flame Section! Second Wing!” Violet and Rhiannon are both placed in my Squad, probably Dain’s way of protecting Vi like he always has.

“Is it too late to request a transfer back to Fourth Wing?” I quipped, the thought lingering like an uninvited shadow, eliciting a hearty laugh from Xaden across the bond.

Xaden steps to Second Wing’s Wingleader, Septon Izar, then calls over the others.

“Dain Aetos,” Nyra calls, her voice cutting through the murmur of cadets like a sharp blade. The tension in the air shifts, rippling as she commands attention. “You and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s.”

“Just wanted to watch you sweat a little,” Xaden laughs, and I swear if he was right here, I'd hit him.

“Tease." Dain gestures for the cadets to follow us as we make our way towards Fourth Wing.

“Welcome back to the cool kids club,” Bodhi greets as we pass.

“Couldn’t keep me away for long,” I wink, the spark of competition igniting within me as I took my place in the formation. I feel the familiar warmth of the bond shared with Xaden, a shadow brushing across our connection as he steps up to the podium. Now, his speech—I’ll listen intently.

“You’re all cadets now,” he begins, his voice resonant and commanding. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by the Codex to not kill you.” His words hang in the air, a sobering reminder laced with a hint of dark humor. “But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won't. You want a dragon? Earn one.”

I watch him, the passion behind his gaze evident; he stayed up all night crafting this speech, and it’s going exactly as he envisioned. The first years cheer, their enthusiasm rising like a tide. “You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you? You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!” The applause swells, the cheers echoing around us like thunder, and I can’t help but snicker at the fervor, the sound of wings flapping overhead punctuating the moment.

Sgaeyl lands directly behind Xaden, a magnificent sight, puffing a cloud of steam that dances in the cool air. Desa and Glane, Imogen’s dragon, land to Sgaeyl’s right, while Chradh and Cuir, Garrick and Bodhi’s, touch down to the left. I’ll never tire of witnessing our dragons in a proud line, a breathtaking display of strength and unity. Other dragons join them, landing gracefully along the walls that encircle us, but most eyes remain riveted on the two blue dragons front and center, one navy and one sapphire, their presence commanding and awe-inspiring.

Then, amidst the chaos of excitement, a single cadet dashes forward, a blur of motion, only to be met with a fierce burst of flames—scorched before he even realizes what’s happening.

“Sixty-eight.” Xaden's voice counts just as another pair of cadets turn and run.The rhythm of their footfalls echoed like a drumbeat, creating a pulse in the charged atmosphere around us.

“Seventy.” I countered, as the two became nothing more than char.

“Anyone else feel like changing their minds?” Xaden’s smirk was almost predatory as he surveyed the faces before him, waiting to see who would falter in the face of the reality he was laying bare. Sgaeyl perched behind him, narrowed her golden eyes, her gaze piercing through the crowd with an intensity that surely sent a ripple of unease through the cadets. I laugh at the possibility.

“She’s going to scorch you next,” Desa's growl cut through my laughter, her protective instincts flaring up like a banner in the wind.

“Sgaeyl loves me too much,” I retorted, the confidence in my voice masking the flutter of uncertainty in my chest.

Xaden resumed his speech, a maestro commanding the symphony of the cadet's emotions and the weight of their future. “No? Excellent.” His tone shifted, taking on a darker edge, a blade’s sharpness slicing through the lingering thrill. “Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer. A third of you again the year after that.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine, a whisper of dread weaving its way through the fabric of camaraderie we shared. I reminded myself, do not be one of the third in my year. The harsh reality of his words hung heavily over us, eclipsing the initial excitement.

“No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing.”

I caught a glimpse of Garrick in my periphery, his expression faltering as he visibly winced at the mention. That was their first year right? What had happened there?

“So tell me again: Do you feel invincible that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?” The crowd fell silent, the tension morphing the air around us into something thick and suffocating, as if we were holding our breaths in the face of inevitable danger.

I met Xaden's gaze, a mixture of admiration and concern swirling within me. His expression radiated pure victory, a glow of satisfaction from the impact of his words settling among the cadets like a storm cloud on the horizon. This was the reality of our lives—the relentless grind of ambition set against the backdrop of danger and loss.

“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them. To them, you’re just prey.”

I gasp as Xaden rips my shirt over my head once I’m over the threshold to his room, door slamming closed behind me. “I can’t tell you how ridiculously attractive that entire speech was.” I moan, pulling him forward by his own shirt to kiss him.

“You knew every word of that speech before I even got on stage.” His laugh vibrates across my skin as he trails his lips past my jaw and down my neck.

“It's the power, Wingleader Riorson.” I gasp, his lips meet the peek of my nipple.

“Oh, say that again.” He growls, encasing the bud between his lips and sucking.

“Wingleader Riorson.” It tumbles past my lips as he moans around my taut nipple, I can already feel my release building inside of me. Gods, the things he does to me. “Xaden, please.” I pleaded with him. My hands are everywhere, grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, begging for more, for anything.

He lifts his head up from my breast and smirks. “Please?” He repeats. And then, without another word, he’s kissing the swell of my breasts again, nipping lightly at the nipples. My breathing hitches as I let out a low whimper, he’s so good at this. When he finally pulls back from my chest, he stares intently at me, as if trying to imprint my face into his mind for all time. "Beg, Wrenley. Beg your Wingleader to take care of you."

His eyes flash with hunger, and it almost kills me to admit it, but the words come out in a whisper. "Wingleader..."

He nods. "Yes?"

"I-" I can't fully get the words out as he starts tugging my pants off.

"Keep going, Cadet. Wouldn't want to hit you with a disciplinary action for disobeying a direct order." His mouth is still at my breast and I'm helpless to do anything except watch as he slips off my boots and my socks while my pants fall to the floor behind him. "Don't think too hard about it, Wrenley." He tells me in a soft, raspy voice. "I'll make sure your punishment will be worth it."

The next thing I know, I'm flat on my stomach, legs hanging off his bed, and he’s standing behind me, hands groping the curve of my ass. "Please, Xay. You have to--please."

“What do you need, love?” He asks quietly as he kneels between my legs. “Anything. Say it.” His lips hover above my ear, waiting.

“I want you to touch me.” I whisper.

He grazes the shell of my ear and laughs softly. “Is that all?”

“No.” I whimper, “I need… I need more. Please.” The last word escapes my lips like air escaping a balloon and Xaden laughs again before flipping me onto my back and lowering himself between my legs. He kisses just above the line of my underwear before shredding the material. He moves my legs onto his shoulders and places a soft kiss on each thigh. I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning out loud, as his mouth travels up until it reaches the apex of my thighs. “Oh fuck.” I groan.

“Yea?” He asks, his lips brushing against my clit.

“Gods fuck me.. please!” I beg him, writhing against the sheets beneath me.

“Say it again.” He demands, his lips still brushing against my clit, the sensation sends electric currents shooting through my body.

“Xaden-”

He pushes one finger inside of me, pushing me deeper into the mattress as he adds a second one just as quickly.

“Xa-Xaden.” I whine and writhe beneath him. “Please. I need you!”

He smiles and pumps two fingers inside of me. “Shhh, love. Shh.” He whispers. “Just relax. I’ve got you.” And then he seals his lips around my clit.

My body goes rigid. “Holy shit!” I cry, bucking my hips into his mouth.

“That's right, my love.” He murmurs. “Let it go. Just… let it go.” He circles my clit with his tongue and I feel my orgasm creep closer.

His name slips out as a high pitched moan and I can hear his own moans as I squeeze around his fingers.

"That's it, love." He encourages, pulling his mouth away to watch his fingers slide through my folds. With a shudder and a scream, suddenly becoming more thankful for the wards on his room, my orgasm explodes through my body. “Good girl.” He murmurs, never slowing his fingers as he brings me to a second orgasm.

“Xaden.” I pant, as he pulls his fingers free of my body. He crawls up my body, his bare cock running across my folds. When did he strip out of his clothes?

"Can you give me one more? Gods, I need to feel you." It feels like my head moves at the speed of light as I nod. “That's my girl.” He says, as he notches his head at my entrance. “Fuck," He groans as his hips meet mine, slipping in all the way to the hilt. "Do you feel that? Do you feel how tightly you're squeezing me?”

Oh, I feel him, every inch, just everything.

“Xay…” I can barely breathe. “Please… oh gods. Please.” I push my hips upward in time with him, begging for more. I need more.

He gasps, giving me exactly what I crave. He hikes my legs around his hips and I lock my ankles behind him, nails dragging across his shoulders as he slams into me, the new angle bringing my climax forward. Tears prickle at my eyes as I cling to him. He groans with each thrust, sweat forming in tiny beads along his brow. He looks so fucking handsome with sweat glistening on his forehead, his cheeks flushed red.

“Xaden--” I sob, feeling my orgasm build and build within me. It takes mere seconds before the wave of ecstasy hits, leaving me trembling and breathless as I try to catch my breath. He releases into me as my own climax subsides.

He holds me close as he comes down from his own high, lips tenderly pressing against my temple.

“You okay?” He asks gently, lifting his head to look into my eyes.

I nod, resting my cheek against his shoulder. “Yes,” I murmured. “Perfect.”

Xaden gently slips out from my core, locating a cloth and cleans our combined mess.

“So, Wingleader...” I laugh, pulling one of his pillows down as I curl around it.

"I didn't think a title could do that many things to me, but the way you said it?" He pulls back the covers and settles himself next to me. He pulls me into his arms and tosses the pillows. "It's definitely only attractive coming from you." And I melt into his embrace. I'm so in love with him. I love being held like this. The sensation alone is blissful, like a drug, so addicting I can't stop doing it. “Wrenley?”

I hum, turning farther in his hold. My head rests on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeats. “Mmm?”

“We should keep this in perspective. I still might have to slap you with a disciplinary action.”

“Yes, sir.” I laugh as he kisses the side of my head. "No go to sleep, we have a long day of cadet wrangling tomorrow."

Morning formation is my least favorite time of day, an unwelcome routine that drags me from the warm embrace of sleep. The summer sun may be rising, casting a soft, golden hue across the training grounds, but the early hour still carries a chill that bites at my skin, teasing me with the comfort of my bed. I could still be nestled beneath the covers, wrapped in Xaden’s scent, a reminder of his warmth, even if he had already risen hours before me to carry out his Wingleader responsibilities.

As Captain Fitzgibbons stands before us, his voice booming across the courtyard, I feel the somber atmosphere weigh heavily in the air. He reads from the first Death Roll of the year. Seventy souls, lost just yesterday, and a few more who didn't make it through the night. It feels like torture, each name reverberating through the ranks, echoing in my mind long after the words have faded.

“We commend their souls to Malek,” he intones solemnly, a prayer hanging in the air as we all bow our heads in respect. Thank the gods it’s over. A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the formation as we break apart, the tension dissipating like mist in the sunlight.

Dain storms past me and Violet without so much as a glance, his focus already on gathering our squad. “Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch. Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go," he calls out, his voice sharp and commanding.

I stand between the second- and first-years, acutely aware of the glare Dain has directed towards my position. He had drilled into me the importance of a ‘united front’ when he asked me to be his executive officer.

As the senior cadets mumble their agreement, Dain sends them off with a wave. “You got the first-years,” he states, half a question, half a command, already striding away before I can muster a response. With a roll of my eyes, I turn to the eager cadets left in my charge, ready to face whatever the day has in store for them.

“Alright, first-years, I know one of you has memorized your academic schedule already,” I announce, a teasing glint in my eyes as I nod toward Violet, who stands confidently in the front row. “Aetos and I expect to see all of you this afternoon in the sparring gym.”

“And if we’re not?” a voice calls from the back, laced with bravado.

“Then I won’t need to know your name ‘cause it’ll be read off tomorrow,” I reply, a playful smile breaking across my lips. The moment feels lighter, a shared joke amongst us as Sawyer Henrick chuckles along with me. I can’t help but feel a pang of empathy for him; not getting bonded last year, and yet he's back.

“Don’t wanna know the name you’ll be moaning later?” another first-year smartly retorts, and I can’t stifle the laughter that bubbles up from deep within. I cross my arms over my chest, meeting his gaze with a mock-seriousness that amplifies the playful atmosphere. Just as a shadowy tendril coils around my ankle, a familiar warmth settles in beside me; Xaden is nearby, an ever-watchful presence, ready to protect.

“Sure,” I responded, still laughing, “as soon as your name is Xaden Riorson, I’ll gladly learn it.” The cadets erupt into laughter at the poor soul’s expense, while a few gasp, surprised by my boldness. Just then, I feel Xaden’s presence solidify as he steps beside me, his arm draping possessively around my shoulders.

“Word of the wise, your Wingleader isn’t bound by the codex to not kill you like your squad,” Xaden says with a smirk, the playful tone replaced by an edge of seriousness. The laughter abruptly fades, replaced by an uncomfortable silence as the weight of his words hangs in the air. “Even think about touching what’s mine and you won’t find your life in her hands but mine.”

“Mmm, I love it when possessive Xaden comes out,” I force my expression to remain smug as I call through our connection. “Sawyer?” I call over to my friend, who nods in response, ready to step into the role of guide.

“I’ll get them there,” he assures, and I watch as the first-years, fueled by a mix of nerves and excitement, hurry to follow him toward the Academic Wing.

Xaden walks beside me, our footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor of the rotunda, a grand space adorned with soaring arches and intricate designs carved into the walls.

I lean against the cool railing and Xaden positions himself next to me. We watch as a majority of the cadets filter out of the rotunda, their laughter mingling with the faint echo of our earlier solemnity. “You really had those first-years in their place,” he finally remarks, a hint of admiration coloring his tone as he surveys the remnants of our playful banter.

I can’t help but chuckle, the sound bright and carefree in the spacious hall. “Like we aren’t used to the horniness of first-years,” I reply, my voice laced with humor.

“Some of these first years have some serious balls on them. I just broke up six fights in Claw Section alone,” Garrick groans, striding up to us and tossing his bag against the wall with a thud. He leans against the railing, looking between Xaden and me with a mock-seriousness. “We weren’t that bad, were we?” His eyes shift to Xaden, searching for validation.

“Considering what happened at Threshing? Worse,” Xaden replies, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you two ever going to tell me what happened? I already know about Xay’s scar,” I prod gently, my curiosity piqued. The atmosphere thickens with unshared secrets, a bond forged through experiences I’ve yet to grasp.

"Don’t worry about it, Little Bird,” Garrick says, reaching over to ruffle my hair in a familiar gesture, but I swiftly draw a blade, its edge glinting in the light as it hovers just shy of his skin.

“Hey, you know the first years already wanna sleep with your cousin?” Xaden interjects, an eyebrow raised, expertly deflecting the conversation.

“I’m still trying to scare off a certain third-year,” Garrick laughs, shaking his head as they drift into a light-hearted debate, their camaraderie palpable against the backdrop of the grand rotunda.

“Already too late, buddy,” Xaden says with a smirk, the air around us buzzing with an easy familiarity.

I watch as a cluster of eager cadets spill through the grand doors, their laughter and chatter echoing off the polished marble walls. Just then, a familiar figure catches my eye—a silver-tipped brunette slipping into view from behind one of the tall pillars. Her urgency is palpable as she darts toward the staircase, but she halts abruptly, glancing up at our group. For a moment, I’m convinced her gaze is fixed on me, a fleeting connection that dances between us, until I catch the subtle shift of Xaden's head in my periphery.

“What are you—” Dain suddenly emerges from the same shadowed pillar, his presence sending a ripple of surprise through the air.

“Oh shit,” I chuckle to myself, bemused by the coincidence. But as Dain’s eyes lock onto mine and Xaden’s, I swear his face drains of color, a ghostly pallor settling in. It’s a reaction I can’t help but find amusing.

“I already knew your parents are tight, but do you two have to be so fucking obvious?” Xaden calls down the stairs, his voice a playful challenge that gains the attention of the few cadets lingering nearby. “Let me guess, childhood friends? First loves, even?” I glance at Xaden, and the impish glint in his eyes reveals his delight in stirring the pot. Dain and Violet whisper between them, eyes bouncing from each other and us. Xaden brushes past me, descending the stairs with a confident stride. “I expected you to do a better job at hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” A looming sense of tension crackles in the air, and I realize I need to step in before this escalates… again.

“Run, Violet. Now,” Dain urges, urgency in his tone as she bolts away, her figure a blur against the stone. Once she’s safely inside, Dain straightens, his voice steady. “I’m doing a better job than you did last year,” he retorts, the challenge evident in his posture.

“So you admit that you’re fucking a first year then?” Xaden presses, now only a few steps above Dain, the shadows deepening around him like a predator closing in on prey.

“Leave her alone, Riorson. You and I both know she had nothing to do with your father’s execution.” Dain replies, stepping up, defiance etched into his features.

It’s a familiar dance, always escalating to this point, the weight of unspoken history heavy between them. “Do you feel the same way about Wren’s anger towards your father or you?” Xaden's voice is low, but it slices through the tension with sharp precision.

As I step closer to Xaden, the atmosphere thickens, crackling with a tension that feels almost tangible—a storm of unresolved issues and unyielding pride swirling around us. My heart races as I prepare for the inevitable clash, knowing all too well the weight of our shared histories and the scars they’ve left behind.

“In fact, weren’t you the one who told her that maybe her dad deserved his execution? And you called yourself her friend,” Xaden hurls the accusation, his voice sharp as a knife, slicing through the air with precision.

The accusation lingers, a heavy shadow cast between us. “You and I both know the length of the relic labels the level of crime,” Dain retorts, his tone laced with disdain. “Your father was the leader, and yours goes up your neck. Soleil’s parents were supporters, and hers is to her elbow. Wrenley has a full arm. That’s not the relic of someone who was just defending their home, and you know it!”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, anger boiling beneath my skin. “That’s enough, Dain,” I interject, stepping firmly beside Xaden, whose posture remains unyielding. “You made your choice about me on Conscription Day last year; must we continuously have this argument?”

“When he starts it? Absolutely.” Dain’s glare is fierce, like a wolf baring its teeth. I march down the steps until I’m eye to eye with my old friend, the distance between us narrowing, the air between us thick with memories and unspoken words.

“Then the next time you want to spew some bullshit about my father, remember that it’s my silence that lets your father keep his job.” My words hang in the air, a quiet threat wrapped in truth. Dain meets my gaze, searching for weakness, and I hold firm, refusing to back down.

“What are you talking about?” Dain’s brows furrow, skepticism written across his features. He’s calling my bluff, but whether he truly suspects I know something, or if he thinks I’m simply weaving lies, remains cloaked in uncertainty.

Desa’s voice echoes in my mind, a haunting reminder of the power I wield. “Not your information to share, Youngling.”

“Now you choose to make an appearance?” I retort, frustration bubbling over. “Besides, I’ll only give him enough to back off.”

“Youngling—”

I push down my shields, focusing intently on Dain again. “I’m sure the general would love to know what really happened to her best friend that day on the Krovlan border, don’t you think?” His body stiffens, and in that heartbeat, I realize Dain—fucking—Aetos knows the truth. “You know, don’t you?” I raise a brow, watching as he stumbles back, his confidence faltering.

“Wren, I–”

The air thickens with tension, electric and crackling as I step closer, an instinctive urgency propelling me forward. Each word hangs heavy, a taut thread ready to snap. “How. Long?” My voice trembles, but I refuse to let the vulnerability seep through. I need answers, and Dain knows it.

His stutter betrays him, lips parting yet no sound emerges. My patience frays, a taut rubber band stretched to its limits. “Before or after you saw me last year?” I demand, the frustration rising like a swell of storm clouds.

“I–”

“Before or after, Aetos!” The way his body tenses I know I projected my thoughts while saying it outloud.

“After! But you don’t have the whole truth!” His voice is a gasping whisper, a confession laced with desperation. He takes a step back, the distance between us growing, mirroring the chasm of betrayal splitting my heart.

“Violet is in as much danger with Xaden as you are with me right now,” I spit, my words like shards of glass, cutting into the silence. “And I’m bound by Codex not to kill you for another year.” The weight of my own words presses down on me, a reminder of the constraints that bind us, the unseen chains that bind our fates.

Finally, I halt, the fiery resolve flickering as he turns, fear painted across his face. In a heartbeat, he is gone, a fleeting shadow darting out of the rotunda.

The man I once considered a close friend, who knew my parents almost as intimately as he did Violet’s, has carried this secret for months. The revelation coils in my chest like a serpent, suffocating and relentless. I can’t believe he has never uttered a single fucking word to me about what happened to my mother. My breaths come in ragged gasps, each exhale a mix of disbelief and fury. I watch his retreating figure vanish through the door.

It’s only when the weight of his absence is filled by the piercing gaze of Onyx eyes that I manage to steady myself. Those eyes, dark as the depths of a stormy ocean, hold a fierce intensity that draws me back from the precipice of my thoughts.

“Wren?” The familiar voice calls out, pulling me from the abyss of my emotions.

“I’m fine.” The lie slips past my lips, unconvincing and hollow. Yet, the fierce determination within me ignites anew. I straighten my posture, shaking off the remnants of doubt that cling to my skin like fog. “Let’s go to class.”

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief.”

The words echo in the spacious lecture hall, a blend of excitement and anxiety swirling in the air. Bodhi, Imogen, and I sit in a neat line directly behind the first years. Bodhi, brimming with enthusiasm, leans back in his chair, his bright eyes sparkling with mischief, as if we are the coolest people in the room.

“In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation, and if they were, they were always third-years who’d spend time shadowing forward wings. But we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we’re up against. It’s not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either.” Imogen scoffs beside me, a sound rich with incredulity. I turn to raise a brow at her, curiosity piquing, but she dismisses my silent question with a wave of her hand. Her typical candor seems shrouded in something deeper today, leaving me to wonder what is going on with everyone.

Professor Devera continues her day one speech, her voice steady yet imposing, weaving a tapestry of expectations and realities. The familiar shadows circle around my knees, clinging like a second skin. The sensation makes me smile as I lift my ink pen, tapping it against the desk as I prepare for taking notes.

“First topic of the day.” Her command resonates, and a warm glow spills from the mage lights, illuminating the Poromial border that outlines the classroom. “The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders. Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains. Allowing the drift not only to enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight.”

I lean forward, my heart racing as I inspect the map. The air is thick with tension, and I find myself drowning out Professor Devera's steady voice, a dull hum in the background. The stark reality of her words gnaws at me: the wards fell, gryphons attacked, people died. Each phrase echoes like a drumbeat in my mind, but I can’t shake the gnawing need for clarity.

“Based on that information, what questions would you ask?” Devera prompts, her tone commanding as she scans the room for raised hands.

I raise mine as well as multiple senior cadets. My mind is racing through the possibilities. Why did the wards fall? The question burns at the tip of my tongue, desperate for an answer that feels just out of reach.

“Only answers from first-years to start,” she declares, and a chorus of groans fills the air as our hands drop, disappointment washing over the older cadets.

“Is this the first time the wards have faltered?” A first-year from Second Wing ventures, his voice cutting through the silence.

“No,” Devera replies, and my heart sinks. My gaze snaps up to the professors, eager for more information. The same first-year hesitates, asking how often this has occurred, only to be met with Professor Markham’s dismissive wave, a flick of his wrist like brushing away an irritating fly. Not the first time, I scrawled in my journal.

“Have you heard about the wards faltering?” I reach for Desa's bond, hoping for more answers.

“At least twice a week, but none that are followed by an attack,” Desa’s soothing voice comes back, a knot tightening in my stomach at the implication.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon's voice is sharp, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

“A little over ten thousand feet. Why?” Professor Markham replies, his brow furrowing as he regards Rhiannon with mild interest. I can see her glance at Violet, her eyes showing she doesn't know.

The altitude is too high for gryphons. That's why.

Rhiannon stiffens as she speaks. “Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons,” she responds, and I wince inwardly, knowing I’ve projected the answer into her mind by accident.

“It is,” Devera confirms, her gaze shifting to Violet. “Why don’t you tell me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask your own questions from here on out.”

“Gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel,” Violet replies, her voice steady and clear as she peers at the map with an intensity that nearly radiates from her. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what…an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost?”

Her insight hangs in the air, a palpable tension that feels almost electric. “That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?” Violet adds, her brow furrowing in deep thought. She really should’ve been a scribe, far too smart for this place.

“It is. Keep going with that line of thought,” Professor Devera encourages, her keen gaze fixed on us like a hawk surveying its domain.

“Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?” Violet asks, a faint edge of realization creeping in.

“I did,” Devera confirms, her voice steady, a beacon of clarity amidst our swirling thoughts.

“Then they were already on their way,” I mutter, my words barely escaping my lips, yet in sync with Violet's vocalized conclusion. The accidental harmony of our thoughts draws the attention of Bodhi and Imogen, who turn to me with bewildered expressions. I can’t help but feel a flush of embarrassment. It definitely doesn’t sound good when I echo someone else's thought aloud, especially in a moment like this.

“Yeah, because that makes sense,” Jack Barlowe scoffs, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “General Melgran knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn’t know when it’ll occur, dumbass.” His voice drips with sarcasm, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

“Fuck off, Barlowe,” Rhiannon snaps, her tone sharp like a drawn dagger.

“I’m not the one who thinks precognition is a thing,” he retorts, but the smirk on his face falters as I suddenly burst into laughter.

“Wanna get caught, Little Bird?” Xaden's teasing voice dances in my mind, and instantly, the laughter freezes on my lips, a chill settling in the pit of my stomach.

“Sorry,” I murmured aloud, the apology almost a whisper.

“Cadet Tavis," Devera interrupts, "The younger one.” She confirms when Garrick also straightens. “Why don’t you carry on Cadet Sorrengail’s thoughts, since you find this so funny?”

“Of course, professor,” I reply, my tone now serious. I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “The squad arrived within an hour from an outpost exactly an hour away. It was the middle of the night which means while some riders were on patrol, others were sleeping." I continue, piecing together the timeline with precision, and I can sense the gravity of my words settling into the room. "Even if the beacons had been lit, it’d be at least 2 hours after the attack that everyone would arrive. So they had already been on their way because someone sensed the wards break.”

“That’s the most—” Jack poised, ready to throw another jab. But before he could finish, Professor Devera’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and commanding. It was a look that silenced even the most boisterous of cadets, a reminder that in this room, the hierarchy of knowledge and respect was paramount.

“Cadet Sorrengail, do you agree?” she asked, her tone steady yet laden with expectation. The professor's question hung in the air like the final note of a melody, waiting for resolution. I could feel the collective breath of the room being held as we awaited Violet’s confirmation. Violet nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Cadet Tavis is right,” Devera continued, her voice now a bit softer, almost reverent as she acknowledged my insight. The air shifted again, less tense now but thick with the promise of revelation. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.” It felt as though time slowed, each cadet processing the implications of her statement in their own way. “Second- and third-years, take over,” Devera ordered, her voice cutting through the thoughts that had begun to swirl chaotically in my mind. “Let’s see if you can be a little more respectful to your fellow cadets.”

How many riders were deployed to the site?

What killed the lone fatality?

How long did it take to clear the village of the gryphons?

Were any left alive for questioning?

Each question feels like a weight on my mind, a heavy cloak that wraps itself tightly around my thoughts, squeezing out any lingering clarity. But it’s Xaden’s query that sends a spark of intrigue racing through my veins.

“What was the condition of the village?” His voice slices through the murmur of uncertainty, resonating with an intensity that demands attention.

“Riorson?” Markham shields his eyes, straining to glimpse the back of the room, where the imposing figure of Xaden leans casually against the wall, his presence commanding, yet deceptively relaxed.

“The village. Professor Devera said the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed?” Xaden presses, his tone full of urgency. “They wouldn’t demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack.” His gaze cuts through the tension, sharpening the focus of our collective attention.

Professor Devera, with her sharp intellect and keen perception, cannot mask the flicker of approval dancing in her eyes as she absorbs Xaden’s words. It’s a rare sight, one that sends a ripple of pride through me. “The buildings they’d already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived.” Her tone is measured, laced with the weight of the dire situation, yet there’s an undercurrent of exhilaration that pulses through the room—a shared understanding that we are on the precipice of something profound.

“They were looking for something,” Xaden states, his voice steady and unwavering. “And it wasn’t riches. That’s not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?”

“Exactly. That’s the question.” Professor Devera’s gaze sweeps across the room, lingering on each cadet, her expression a mixture of pride and challenge. “And that right there is why Riorson is a wingleader. Even Tavis, despite her inappropriate interruption, is excellent at piecing together information and would make an excellent wingleader next year. You need more than strength and courage to be a good rider.”

“So what’s the answer?” a first-year asks, his voice a tremor of uncertainty.

“We don’t know.” Well, shit.

The air in the training gym buzzed with tension as first-years Ridoc and Aurelie circled each other, their movements a chaotic dance of adrenaline and uncertainty. Dain leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, they don’t entirely suck,” he remarked, casting a sideways glance at me.

I don’t take my eyes off the sparring pair. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I say you could talk to me?” I shot back, my voice steady despite the whirl of emotions brewing inside.

Dain sighed, a heaviness settling between us. “We have to talk, Wren. You’re my EO.”

That title felt like a shackle more than an honor, especially now. “So did you decide that before or after you found out what happened to my mom?” I turned to face him, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “If you think I can easily forget you hiding that, then you don’t know me.”

Without warning, Dain grabbed my arm, pulling me into the shadows of an empty corner. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but did you really want to know?” His voice was low, urgent, almost frantic.

“Did I want to know that your dad not only dragged my dad to his execution but is also the reason my mom died two years prior?” I spat, my heart racing. “That’s what you’re asking?”

He winced, guilt flickering across his face. “I hear how bad that sounds.”

“Do you? Because it sounds like you gave me grief for my dad joining the rebellion, found out your father was responsible for my mom’s death, and then felt pity and made me your EO.” I crossed my arms, breaking free from his hold.

“I’m sorry, Wrenley. I should’ve told you,” he said, his voice softening.

“You really should have. Are we done now?”

A sudden shout from the other side of the room startled us both. “What did I say? You broke his damn neck!” We turned to see Jack looming over a fallen body, a reminder of the violence that could erupt in an instant.

Dain muttered, “He’s a piece of work.”

“And out to kill Vi, so maybe keep an eye out?” I said, my voice steadying with resolve. Dain nodded, the weight of our unsaid words lingering as he led the way back to our squad’s mat.

The spotlight of scrutiny shifted as Rhiannon and another first-year as they circled each other, their forms blurring in a flurry of movement, both desperate to claim victory. Rhiannon manages to emerge triumphant, a fierce grin splitting her face like a beacon of pride. Then, Violet and Imogen were called to the mat next.

“You got this,” Rhiannon whispered. Violet’s face was pale, a ghostly mask of anxiety, and I could feel the energy in the room pulse with unspoken fears.

“Don’t kill her, Im.” My warning slipped out before I could temper the sharpness of my words. Imogen merely laughed. I recognized that glimmer in her eyes—an intoxicating thrill that danced dangerously close to the line of control.

And then it happened—one moment Violet seemed poised to land a blow, and in the next, Imogen’s movements transformed into a blur, a cascade of swift strikes that left no room for doubt. Violet was on the ground, the impact jarring enough to silence the crowd momentarily.

“You can’t use your powers in here, Imogen!” Dain’s voice sliced through the tension, urgency underscoring his words. I felt the heat of my own anger bubbling beneath my skin, ready to erupt.

“Knock this shit off, Im!” I shouted, my voice rising above the clamor, a desperate plea tinged with the threat of impending violence. Imogen hesitated, a momentary flicker of surprise crossing her features as she sheathed her dagger, but Violet seized the opportunity to connect her fist with Imogen’s cheek. The sound echoed and Violet rolled back onto her feet.

“What kind of armor is that?” Imogen retorted.

“Mine.” Violet shot back, her response fierce as she ducked to evade another strike, Imogen’s movements beginning to blur again—a telltale sign that the fight was spiraling out of control.

“Imogen! Do it again, and I’ll—” Emettario’s warning fizzled out as Violet hit the mat face-first, the thud resonating like a death knell for her hope. Imogen loomed over her, a grip on Violet’s arm that seemed both possessive and threatening.

“Yield!” Imogen shouted, but the word hung in the air, not as a plea but as a command.

“No!” Violet cried, her spirit undeterred despite the precarious position. But with an agonizing twist, Imogen pulled her arm further, a sickening pop punctuating the air, the unmistakable sound of bone succumbing to pressure.

“Imogen, stop!” I shouted, panic surging through me as Dain’s voice echoed my sentiment, “Yield, Violet!”

“Yield!” Imogen repeated, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the haze of chaos.

“She yields,” Emettario intervened, his voice firm and authoritative, cutting through the noise like a knife through flesh. “That’s enough.”

Finally, Imogen released Violet's arm, but not before a harsh crack rang out—an eerie, haunting sound that seemed to reverberate through the very core of my being, a grim reminder of the cost of power unchecked.

The night covered the world in shadows as we slipped through the trees. Our cloaks are heavy, usually meant winter, but necessary for our late night escapade. The air was thick with the warmth of summer, yet a chill ran down my spine.

"You gonna tell me why you've been ignoring Imogen for the last week?" Xaden's voice was low, barely audible beneath the rustle of leaves, his concern palpable as we approached the old oak by the river.

I clenched my fists, frustration boiling beneath the surface. "She snapped Violet's arm in half after I warned her not to do anything rash. And she broke the rules using her signet during assessment." My words dripped with anger, a mix of disappointment and hurt for my friend.

"You know how everyone feels about what happened," Xaden reminded me, his gaze steady and understanding. I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me, and pulled my hood back as we reached the tree's cover.

"It doesn't change the fact that I care for Vi. She’s not her mother, just like none of us are our parents," I muttered, the pain of the past gnawing at my heart. Xaden stepped closer, pulling me into a tight embrace, the warmth of his support momentarily easing my burden.

"We'll talk to everyone tonight, okay?" I nodded, grateful for his steady presence, just as Imogen, Bodhi, and Garrick emerged from the shadows, their hoods falling away as they reach us.

"Hey, Little Bird," Garrick greeted, his smile a small beacon of light in the darkness. He wrapped me in a hug that I've desperately needed from him this week. After the rebellion, it was just us left and this hug reminds me that we were still here, still fighting, and that meant something.

"Garrick, Bodhi," I replied, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Imogen, the tension between us thick and unyielding. Xaden's gaze darted toward the grove, where more hooded figures began to gather.

"We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco," Garrick reported, the grim reality of our situation settling over us like a fog.

"That leaves us with fort-one left." I sigh, doing the math. There should have been fifty-seven of us this year, instead we’re down sixteen. nighty-one left from the hundred and seven rebellion kids left after three years. What would the next three look like?

“Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation,” Imogen declared, her voice steady yet tinged with an urgency that echoed in the cool night air. The dim moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled shadows on the anxious faces of the first years gathered around us.

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” one of the younger cadets asked, his voice wavering, as uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve.

Xaden, arms folded across his chest, leaned back against the sturdy limb of the oak tree, its bark rough against his back. “We’ve done this for two years, and they’ve never found out,” he replied, his voice calm but firm, a fortress against the rising tide of fear. “They won’t, unless one of you decides to spill. And if you do,” His eyes darkened. "I'll know."

I stepped forward, the cool breeze ruffling my cloak as I felt the weight of their eyes on me. “We’ve already lost two,” I stated, my heart aching for those we couldn’t save. “We wish we could save everyone, but you have to save yourself.” The truth of my words resonated, a chilling reminder of our harsh reality. “Every Navarrean in there will come up with every reason to call you a traitor and watch you fail. You have to want to live and succeed.”

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?” Xaden asked, glancing around the group. Four hands shot up, and he let out an exasperated curse. “Shit.”

“I’ll teach them,” Garrick offered, his voice a reassuring balm amidst the tension.

“You’re our best fighter–” Xaden started, but Bodhi interjected.

“Wrenley’s the best; why doesn’t she do it?”

“And get trained by signetless? No thanks,” My gaze snaps over, narrowing my eyes at the first-year who spoke. Just as I reached for the thoughts brewing in his mind, a shadow surged forward, and Xaden’s hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me back.

“Don’t,” he muttered firmly, his eyes searching mine for understanding.

“Technically, Xaden is our best,” Garrick chimed in, redirecting the conversation.

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen quipped, and I snapped my gaze to her, the tension rising again.

“Breathe,” Xaden urged, his voice steady. “Time and place, Little Bird.” Once I assured him I wouldn’t lose my composure, he turned his focus back to the group. “Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient.”

I couldn’t help but let out a snarky laugh at his statement, and Xaden’s grip on my arm tightened, a gentle reminder to stay grounded.

“Wrenley has her own priorities for the year,” he continued. “So the four of you split yourselves up between Garrick and Imogen. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?”

“I can’t do this,” the smallest of the first-years cries, his voice quaking with desperation.

“What do you mean?” Xaden questions, his tone sharp, the authoritative wingleader voice slicing through the murmurs of the gathered cadets like a dagger.

“I can’t do this!” The first-year nearly shouts, panic bubbling to the surface. “The death. The fighting. Any of it! A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day! I want to go home! Can you help me with that?” His eyes glisten with unshed tears, the raw vulnerability palpable in the dim light.

“No.” Xaden shrugs the kid off, the dismissal as cold as the biting wind that whips through the trees. “You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.”

“That was harsh, cousin.” Bodhi gasps, shock rippling through his voice, and I instinctively move closer to Xaden.

“What do you want me to say, Bodhi?” Xaden’s gaze sharpens, the weight of responsibility evident on his shoulders, as he stands resolute among the group. “I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.”

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick sighs, rubbing his hand over his face in disbelief. “Way to give a pep talk.”

Xaden goes on a tirade, and I lift a hand to his chest, a gentle reminder for him to breathe and remain grounded, a small gesture that we've both learned to need. “Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” Xaden orders, his voice steadying as he refocuses.

“Battle Brief.” One of the girls speaks softly, her eyes downcast. “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…”

“What about the information?” I ask, shifting my gaze from the first-year to Xaden, hoping for clarity.

“That’s a tough one.” Imogen’s brow furrows as she turns to Xaden, seeking a solution.

“You learn what they teach you,” Xaden states firmly, his voice unwavering, “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.” His response is cryptic, laden with implications that leave me bewildered and my mind racing as I try to digest his words. “Anyone else?” Xaden asks, a hint of urgency creeping into his tone. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”

“When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?” a voice called out from the back, breaking the simmering silence, a dark undercurrent of eagerness lacing the question. The speaker's tone was almost casual, as if discussing the weather, but the intent behind it crackled with a ferocity that sent chills down my spine.

“Yeah, Xaden,” Imogen chimed in sweetly, her voice dripping with a feigned innocence that barely masked her underlying fury. “When do we get to finally have our revenge?”

“Imogen…” Xaden warned, his voice low and steady, a soft plea buried beneath the turmoil. But before he could further intervene, I felt the adrenaline surge through me, propelling me forward.

“The minute I’m done shoving my foot up your ass,” I growled, my words punctuated by the tension thrumming in my veins. In a blur of motion, I launched myself at her, driven by a mix of fury and frustration. But just as I prepared to make contact, Xaden’s grip encircled my waist, halting my advance with an unexpected gentleness.

“I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right,” Xaden asserted smoothly, his voice unwavering despite my thrashing in his arms.

“Haven’t learned from your actions the other day? You still have a month left of scrubbing dinner dishes for using your fucking signet.” I sneered, the heat of my anger boiling over, but somewhere deep inside.

“Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.”

I should snap your arm, see how she likes it. Yet, as my anger threatened to consume me, a quieter voice echoed in my mind—a calming reminder. “Hurting your friend won't fix what’s been done.” Desa’s words resonated within me, firm yet gentle, pulling me farther from the brink.

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents,” Garrick countered, crossing his arms, a furrow of determination etching his brow. “Not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish.”

“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college—” Imogen’s voice rises.

“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in the same death sentence of a college. Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate,” Garrick counters, his tone laced with frustration.

Imogen turns away, a flicker of remorse flashing in her eyes is the only thing keeping me in place now.

“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail. She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.” Xaden’s voice is steady and deliberate, his gaze piercing into both Imogen and the first-year girl. The mention of Brennan sends a shiver down my spine. “And I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?” His words are a command, a wall of authority that looms over us, silencing any potential dissent.

No one dares to respond.

“Good. Then get back to bed and go in threes.” Xaden motions with his head and the marked ones turn to leave, hoods raising again. “Are you alright?” Xaden’s voice softens as he steps closer, his hand gliding from my arm to my back, pulling me into him. I inhale deeply, his familiar scent soothing the last of my anger and I nod, resting my head against his chest. “Go back with Garrick,” he whispers, the words an anchor, drawing me away from the tempest of our earlier confrontation. I pull back slightly, looking into his eyes.

“You’re not coming back with us?” I ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

“I just need a few minutes and I’ll be right behind you. I promise, Little Bird.” Before I can protest, he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, a fleeting moment of reassurance. Then he brushes his lips against mine—brief, electric—and I feel the warmth spread through me like a wildfire. “Get some rest.” His words are a gentle command, and I nod, the fight in me dissipating as he lifts my hood up, shielding me from the night air. I turn to walk with Garrick, the weight of Xaden’s gaze still lingering on my back.

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