40. CHAPTER 40 #3
She paced slowly, hands clasped behind her back.
“When your ability does surface, it will not ask if you are ready. It will pour through you without restraint. Some of you will create storms. Others will warp air, stone, or flame. A few of you will bend magic itself. Whatever it is, if you are careless, you will kill yourselves or those standing closest to you.”
The room went still. Every cadet locked on her words.
Duft’s gaze narrowed. “You should not experiment on your own, should it manifest while you are gone. Uncontrolled power leaves bodies in its wake. Do not mistake your family’s home for a training ground.
Gifts are often brought out in times of distress, so try not to allow yourself to be in distress. ”
Her sharp certainty chilled me. How the hell could we decide whether we ended up in a stressful situation?
“If it can be so dangerous, why are they sending us home when manifestation is likely?" A cadet shot out.
“Usually, students can stay, and many faculty members encourage first-year Riders to remain on campus. Most of them do.”
She gestured toward a series of diagrams chalked across the board—energy flows, runes, containment circles.
“Once you manifest, you will be taught containment, precision, and restraint before anything else. Until then, you drill the fundamentals. Meditation. Control of power. Don’t channel. Nothing more.”
She stopped, her eyes sweeping the room like daggers. “Consider yourselves warned.” By the time she dismissed us, the silence in the hall was heavier than it had been all day.
Professor Bhatta’s classroom was on the third floor of Alpha Wing, a long stone chamber with narrow windows that let in more shadow than light. The walls were bare except for a massive tapestry of a dragon in flight, its wingspan stretching nearly the length of the room .
Bhatta himself stood at the front, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair gone silver at the temples and a voice that carried like gravel over stone. He didn’t waste time with introductions.
“You’ve bonded,” he said, scanning us with a soldier’s sharp eyes. “That means you will be around fliers on an almost daily basis. There are some rules you need to drill into your head.”
He paced slowly, boots thudding against the floor. “First rule: never step too close to a flier unless you are their Rider. Not even if they seem calm. Not even if you think you’re safe. They don’t like it, and they don’t forgive it.”
Uneasy glances flickered between cadets.
“Second rule: never rush a Rider when their flier is close. The flier reads it as a threat. I’ve seen wings snap ribs before a cadet can draw a breath. Worse—I’ve watched a dragon turn someone to ash. Don’t test it.”
The air in the classroom seemed to thin, tension pressing against us. My bond mark prickled, and Esme’s low, satisfied hum brushed my thoughts, “at least he understands courtesy.”
“Third rule.” Bhatta stopped at the center of the room, his voice dropping low. “Fliers speak to no one but their bonded Rider. There are some very, very rare occasions when this doesn’t apply. For instance, on Judgment Day, when you all took a tincture.”
A couple of cadets laughed nervously. Bhatta’s gaze cut to them, cold as a blade. Silence snapped down again.
“But fliers do speak among themselves. Constantly.” His eyes flicked to the tapestry, the woven dragon looming above us.
“They can relay messages from one Rider to another if they choose. Don’t count on it being reliable—or flattering.
They are not couriers. They are creatures with wills of their own. ”
He folded his arms, letting the silence stretch, his presence heavy as iron.
“These rules will not be found in your handbooks. They are truths written in blood. Break them, and it will not be the professors who punish you. ”
A shiver traced my spine. Esme’s amusement rippled through me, sharp and smug. “I would never break your spine, little Rider. Not unless you annoyed me terribly.”
I clenched my jaw. “You’re not helping.”
When Bhatta dismissed us, the scrape of chairs against stone echoed like thunder. We filed out in silence, the weight of his words pressing heavier than any saddle. Rules written in blood. The kind you didn’t get second chances on.
I rubbed absently at my bond mark as we left the wing, the ache faint but steady. Esme’s presence pulsed warm at the edge of my thoughts, smug as ever.
“Do you really talk with the other fliers that much?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
“Of course,” she said, almost bored. “It keeps things entertaining while you humans shuffle about like ants.”
“Do you ever… talk to your mom?”
A pause. The brush of her mind was colder than before. “Not often. We are not close enough for that. Fliers need to be decently close to each other to communicate. And she is busy…”
Her voice quieted, sharp edges blunted by something I couldn’t quite name. Loneliness? Resentment? I couldn’t tell.
“I would rather talk to you,” she added. A flicker of humor returning to her tone. “You are far more entertaining when you panic.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt warm in a way I didn’t want to think about too hard.
The scent of oiled leather and hot metal hit me the moment we entered the outdoor stadium for Professor Yan’s class, which wasn’t quite like a class.
All around were racks of straps, buckles, and tools that gleamed under the sun.
Long worktables stretched on the side near the benches, already laid out with measuring cords, chalk, and thick parchment sheets.
But none of that held my attention.
It was the silver dragon standing in the courtyard, scales catching the light like hammered moonlight. Enormous—easily double Esme’s size, their wings folded. Its head alone was longer than a cart, and when her gaze swept the room, every cadet went still.
Silvers were rare, and being bonded to one was awe-inspiring. Seeing a second one at the same time.
Esme stirred, a ripple of distaste coloring the bond. “Don’t stare.”
“She or he is incredible.”
“She knows. We are incoming.”
Professor Yan, small and wiry beside her dragon, clapped her hands.
“Eyes front. This is Araceli, my bonded dragon. She will be serving as a model today for those of you measuring dragons. Her size is… unusual.” Yan’s smile was wry, her dark eyes flicking toward her dragon with pride.
“Most of you will not require this scale, but the method remains the same.”
From the opposite side of the room, a golden griffin strutted in, feathers glinting with bronze undertones. At his side walked a broad-shouldered male with kind eyes and sun-darkened skin—Professor Yan’s spouse, though not a professor himself—a Rider, nonetheless.
“This is Daren and Klythe,” Yan announced. “They’ll demonstrate measurements for griffins and phoenixes. Their skeletal structure is similar enough that the process translates.”
All of our fliers landed in the stadium, shaking the ground. Klythe fluffed his wings, sending a ripple of golden feathers scattering across the ground. A few cadets bent to snatch one up before Bhatta’s voice in their memory stopped them cold.
Yan gestured to the fliers. “Your task today is simple. You will record preliminary measurements for your fliers: wingspan, neck girth, torso length, and saddle ridge. These will guide the custom fittings for your first real saddles.”
Esme’s silver dust eye swiveled toward me, a low rumble vibrating in my chest. “If you make me look smaller than I am, I will bite you.”
“Good thing I am small, making you already look taller,” I shot back.
Her laughter rolled through the bond, low and sharp .
Professor Yan clapped her hands again, her silver dragon’s scales flashing. “Collect your cords, chalk, and parchment. You’ll begin with torso length, then wingspan. Daren and I will correct your form.”
She moved to the side table, her spouse already laying out a coil of cord across Klythe’s golden back.
“And before you ask—yes, I am a Rider. No, I do not ride often anymore. My gift manifested as a metallurgist. I can bend, shape, and strengthen metal, which makes me far more useful here, ensuring your saddles don’t split in the sky.
Consider me semi-retired, but don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten how to keep you all in line. ”
That earned a nervous laugh from a few cadets.
I gathered my cord and chalk, Esme crouching low so I could scramble up her shoulder. She rumbled under me, “Measure carefully, little Rider. Leave nothing out.”
“Stand still,” I said, bracing across her broad back as I chalked her shoulder ridge. “This isn’t a competition.”
“Everything is a competition,” she purred.
Across the room, Akira yelped as Orix flicked his tail deliberately, knocking the chalk from her hands. “Gods, hold still!” she shouted, scrambling to retrieve it. Orix’s booming chortle rattled the stone walls—that was definitely a laugh.
A few cadets snickered until a sharp crack echoed—the sound of Korra, snapping her beak dangerously close to Micah’s sleeve when he drifted too close.
“Watch it!” Sadie barked, jerking Micah back.
Klythe ruffled his feathers, golden eyes flashing with predator pride. Daren gave a patient smile. “Griffins don’t like strangers in their space. Quick reminder—don’t test them. Their tempers are sharper than their beaks.”
Micah muttered something under his breath but gave Sera a quick pat, the phoenix’s feathers shifting in what looked suspiciously like smug agreement .
Meanwhile, Lorenzo’s dragon, Syth, sprawled across the floor with deliberate weight, forcing him to climb halfway up the beast’s forelimb to reach the neck cord. “You’re doing this on purpose,” Lorenzo grunted.
Syth rumbled, eyes gleaming.
Thora and Sylivia, by contrast, were immaculate. The dark blue griffin stood statue-still while Thora measured her wingspan, the chalk lines neat and perfectly aligned.
Sadie groaned when she saw it. “Of course they’re perfect.”
“Of course we are,” Thora said, not even looking up.
I rolled my eyes, then stretched across Esme’s spine to pull the cord tight. My arms trembled, but I got the mark down cleanly. She shifted just enough to jostle me, and I slid an inch sideways with a gasp.
Her laughter shook through me. “If you fall, I’ll let the griffins peck at you first.”
“You’re the worst,” I shot back, chalking her last mark with a shaky hand.
Professor Yan moved between us, her keen gaze sweeping over our work. She paused by me, fingers brushing the chalk line on Esme’s shoulder. “Not bad. Next time, tighten the cord higher across the ridge. Precision matters—half an inch off here, and you’ll feel it every second in the sky.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
Yan straightened, her silver dragon shifting behind her, the ground trembling with each slight movement. “Remember, today is about patience. Your fliers are testing you, not failing you. The sooner you learn to read their moods and adapt, the sooner you’ll stop ending up on your ass.”
She looked around the room, sharp as a blade. “And tomorrow, we begin cutting leather. If you thought today was difficult, just wait.”
I shook my head, but my eyes kept drifting back to Araceli, her silver scales glinting with every slow breath. Rare. Beautiful. Powerful in a way that felt untouchable.
I wondered what secrets Esme’s bloodline might hold.