20. CHAPTER 20
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The first week flew by. The lectures were mainly informational, and I already knew most of the material.
I kept daggers on every limb and my torso wherever I went.
I felt like I watched my back more than before.
I had been trying not to dwell on what my father was truly doing or what my mom’s letters contained.
Honestly, I was just trying to survive. Week two began, which also meant we added sparring and obstacle training to our schedules.
We assembled into the current event class with Melamora, Pascal, and Fogg. Anyone that had the first meal block, often sat in here waiting for the rest of the cadets to arrive. Some cadets roamed the halls. For our wing, we had thirty minutes in between, but others only had ten minutes.
“Alright. Let’s settle in.” Professor Pascal said, his voice carrying through the stadium.
“Now that we have been in courses for a week, we will start discussing strategies during this class as well,” Professor Fogg stated.
“Raise your hand if you are aware of the attacks from Rudemont along Veskonia’s coast?” Melamora asked.
Over half of the room raised their hands. I looked around, taking everyone in. The realization of how shielded my father kept me. Maybe I should have paid more attention to his meetings and hushed conversations.
“How are they attacking?” Asked one of the Historians who sat in the upper leadership rows.
“That’s a good question. They are sailing in from the east and sending hundreds of arrows through the skies onto land. Most of those arrows had an unknown substance, which injured and killed various troops,” Fogg said.
The entire room went silent.
“How are they getting through sky patrol?” an Infantry cadet asked.
“Good question. However, we don’t have that information. Keep the questions coming,” Pascal said.
“Why are they attacking us?” someone asked.
“We also don’t know—but generally, attacks and wars always come down to power,” Melamora said.
“But they are human… we are Fae, clearly more powerful,” another said.
“Don’t assume they aren’t powerful, because they aren’t Fae. We also believe that they do have Fae amongst the ranks. That wasn’t a question though,” Pascal said.
“Did we attack back or rather were we able to?” I asked, the question had been burning in my throat.
“Great question. Yes, we did. Riders were able to seize the ship,” Melamora said.
“Did interrogations happen?” I asked her. It seemed she wanted us to pry information from them, not giving us anything we didn’t ask.
“No…”
I swore she was going to tell me, but after a few heartbeats, she didn’t carry on, making me ask. “Why?”
“There were only two people on board, both were dead when the Riders boarded the boat. Both had self-inflicted wounds. There was a machine of sorts that assisted in launching the arrows in large scale,” Fogg said, shifting under his feet.
I felt the swallow go down hard. What did that mean? Why? Murmurs amongst cadets started.
“Let’s shift this, third and fourth-years please refrain from answering. What should we do to prevent the next attack?” Pascal asked.
Hands shot into the air. Pascal pointed to a male cadet in the back.
“Extend sky patrols farther out over the ocean,” the cadet suggested. “Catch them before they reach land. ”
Professor Melamora tilted her head. “And how long do you think Riders can stay aloft before exhaustion? Patrols aren’t infinite. Good start, but think broader.”
“Line the coast with wards—something that flares when ships cross the boundary. We can’t guard every stretch of ocean, but at least we’d know the moment they arrive,” an Infantry cadet said.
A faint smile spread across Melamora’s lips. “Better. Awareness before impact.”
“Don’t wait for them to hit the shore. Meet them halfway. Send Riders to intercept before their arrows ever reach us,” Jeremy said.
Murmurs rippled through the rows. The idea was aggressive—dangerous—but it made sense.
“That’s risky,” Fogg admitted. “But perhaps necessary.”
I felt my hand rising before I stopped to think. “Ships that sail across an ocean don’t sail on air. They need food, water, and supply lines. If we cut those, they’ll never make it here.”
“You’re beautifully brilliant,” Zane said down our bond.
Pascal’s gaze pinned me in place. He let the silence drag before answering, “Now that is strategy. Target what keeps them alive, not just the weapons they carry.”
“How? How do you cut supply lines across an entire sea?” A Historian cadet asked.
Melamora’s eyes flicked across the room, sharp as a blade. “That,” she said, “is the question your generation will need to solve.”
The air grew heavy again, tension sparking between cadets like storm light. The war wasn’t theory anymore. It was on their doorstep—and none of us were ready. We continued debating strategy, shooting down ideas, elaborating on others.
** *
The obstacle course was positioned at the edge of the flight field, near the mountain that stretched into the upper flight area, which led into the fliers’ den.
Up there, three dens belonged to the different species of fliers.
Only fliers were permitted beyond that point.
There were two entrances to the upper flight field.
Stone stairs leading to the top, or the obstacle. Both options appeared unappealing.
“Feather Wing, Electric Platoon, first squad, this is the flier’s Rite of Passage.
This course is designed to prepare you to ride a flier without dying.
You must pass this to move on to bond within a flier.
You will practice this in your squad but complete it individually.
Since there are twelve squads in total, each squad will get two hours twice a week to work on their skills.
You have eight weeks to master this. For the first four weeks, there will be a barrier shield to catch you if you fall.
After that, though, you’re on your own. Cadets do die practicing.
It is an unfortunate thing,” Professor Quillet told us.
The seven of us stood at the base of the mountain, gazing at all six levels of the course.
I was pretty certain our mouths hung open in awe.
The mountain featured a perfect twenty-foot-wide section carved out of its face, extending straight up to the fifty-foot-tall summit.
At the bottom right, stones rose about five feet high, followed by a sturdy wooden plank spanning across.
After crossing the plank, ropes hung from another inclined plank, spaced roughly four feet apart.
Once we navigated that, we encountered another slanting plank attached to the right side, also ascending.
At the top, a small landing pad sat across a three-foot gap between the final platform and us.
You had more stones to climb, each small enough to grip tightly, none larger than a few inches across.
These stones extended about eight feet upward, leading to another platform you needed to reach.
My eyes widened as I looked up at the top, which appeared increasingly difficult, making the climb even more complicated.
Once on the platform, there was another plank starting about four feet from it.
This plank differed because logs hung from the plank above, making it harder to cross.
After crossing, you climbed a hanging ladder at the end to reach the plank with the hanging logs and crossed again.
In the last fifteen feet, another plank was attached, forming a steep ramp upwards.
It extended only eight feet, with a five-foot gap and a two-foot ledge to land on.
The final part of the obstacle was a series of small ropes to cross, leading to stone ledges that brought you up to the bridge spanning the mountain opening.
As you looked up the mountain, the obstacles swung more wildly as they rose higher.
This would not be an easy feat. I was one of the shortest females in the entire Rider’s branch, standing five feet three, which I inherited from my mother.
My father was six feet tall, and my mother was five feet two inches.
I inherited most of my features from my dad—sandy blonde hair with streaks of platinum blonde, emerald-green eyes, paler skin with a peach undertone, and light freckles across my face and arms. My mom had a darker complexion, dark brown hair, and blue eyes.
Why did I inherit her short height? I needed my father’s height for some of this.
I had never let it hold me back before, and I refused to start now, so I focused my thoughts.
“In eight weeks, every Rider will attempt this challenge.
While you'll run it as a team, it is an individual event, meaning you won't be allowed to physically help each other. Each person will be timed, and the combined times of the squad will be recorded. Your timing will determine the order you're released on bonding day. The sooner you are released into the Flugblatt Forest, the sooner you and your flier can be bonded. You can practice in the evenings. However, there may be other squads practicing here, and I won’t be here,” he told us.
The seven of us walked closer to the obstacle together, all staring at it in silence.
“Well, I guess let’s go practice our death,” Micah said. He was usually the quietest member of our group. We all turned our heads and looked at him in unison.
“Well, I always wanted to be a groundbreaking artist,” Clara said. We all lost it. I was glad my squad had a sense of humor. We could all die laughing.
“Alright, let’s be serious for a minute—” Jackson started to say.
“I’m serious as a heart attack,” Micah said. Now we were all howling .
“Are you all going to stand there laughing, wasting time, or practice?” Professor Quillet asked us. We all went silent.