Chapter 7
The essay sat on my desk like an accusation.
Three feet of parchment about basilisks—about patience and endurance, about surviving through stubborn persistence rather than raw strength. It was well-researched, logically argued, and completely dishonest.
Professor Veyra would see through it immediately.
But what else could I have written? I feel drawn to an extinct creature type because shadows reach for me in the dark and looking at light dragon illusions makes me ache with recognition? That would get me sent to the healers for evaluation, not earn me a passing grade.
"You look miserable," Brooke observed from her bed, where she was re-reading her own essay with obvious satisfaction. "Is your essay that bad?"
"It's fine."
"Liar. You've been staring at it for twenty minutes like it personally offended you." She set down her parchment. "What did you write about?"
"Basilisks."
"Really?" She sounded genuinely surprised. "I had you pegged for phoenix. All that stubborn refusal to quit—that's pure phoenix material."
"Phoenixes want passion. Fire. I don't have that."
"You faced down Marcus Veyre with cracked ribs and kept fighting. That's not passion?"
"That's survival. It's different."
Brooke studied me with those sharp green eyes. "Is it though? Or are you just bad at recognizing your own strength?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the truth was more complicated than she knew.
I wasn't drawn to basilisks or phoenixes or griffins. I was drawn to something impossible. Something extinct. Something that made my chest ache every time I thought about it.
"Come on," Brooke said, standing and stretching. "Let's get breakfast before you spiral into an existential crisis. Caleb promised to show me a new training technique, and I need fuel."
"You're spending a lot of time with Caleb."
"He's entertaining. And helpful. And—" She paused, a slight smile playing at her lips. "—okay, fine. I like him. He makes me laugh, and he doesn't treat me like I'm fragile just because I'm a girl. Plus, he's not hard to look at."
"Brooke—"
"Don't 'Brooke' me. You're one to talk about complicated situations with Draxen brothers." She grabbed my arm and hauled me off the bed. "Now come on. I'm starving, and if we're late, Caleb will eat all the good bacon."
The dining hall was buzzing with nervous energy.
Today was essay submission day, and everyone knew Professor Veyra's reputation for brutal honesty.
She'd failed students before for lying about their compatibility, and rumors said she could tell if you were being dishonest just by reading your handwriting.
Caleb was already at our usual table, along with Torin and Terrance. Still no Kairen, I noticed. How many days now since I'd seen him in person? Four? Five? He was avoiding the dining hall entirely, avoiding anywhere I might be.
"Ladies!" Caleb greeted us with his usual grin, though I noticed it looked a bit strained around the edges. "Ready to have your souls crushed by Professor Veyra's assessment of your life choices?"
"I'm confident," Brooke said, sliding into the seat next to him. "Griffin all the way. Honor, loyalty, combat excellence. That's me."
"It is," Caleb agreed, his grin warming. "You're probably the most griffin-compatible person in our year. If a griffin doesn't choose you, they're idiots."
"Griffins can't be idiots. They're sacred bonding creatures."
"Fine. They're 'discerning creatures who failed to recognize an excellent candidate.'" He turned to me. "What about you, Serenya? What did you write about?"
"Basilisk."
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or skepticism. "Really? You don't strike me as basilisk material."
"Why not?"
"Basilisks want patience. Endurance. You're more..." He searched for words. "You're more fire than earth. More intensity than steadiness. I'd have guessed phoenix."
"That's what I said!" Brooke exclaimed.
"Well, you're both wrong," I said, more sharply than I intended. "I know myself better than you do."
Awkward silence fell over the table. Terrance raised an eyebrow. Torin looked thoughtful.
"Sorry," I muttered. "I didn't sleep well."
"Bad dreams?" Torin asked quietly.
"Something like that."
He studied me for a moment longer, then mercifully changed the subject. "How are the ribs healing?"
"Better. The healer's magic helped."
"Good. Because Master Wren's not going to go easy on you just because Marcus tried to break you." He pushed a plate of eggs toward me. "Eat. You'll need the energy."
I picked at the food mechanically, aware of Caleb watching me with that calculating expression he got sometimes—like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"Where's Kairen?" Brooke asked suddenly, echoing my thoughts.
Caleb's expression shuttered. "Training. As usual."
"It's been almost a week since I've seen him in the dining hall," Brooke pressed. "Is he okay?"
"Define 'okay.'" Caleb's voice had gone flat. "He's alive. Functional. Probably hasn't slept more than three hours total this week. His shadows are acting up, his control is shakier than I've ever seen it, and he's been avoiding anywhere that—" He stopped abruptly.
"Anywhere that what?" I asked quietly.
Caleb met my eyes. "Anywhere that you might be. He's rearranged his entire schedule around not running into you. It's honestly impressive how much effort he's putting into avoidance."
"Why?"
"You'll have to ask him that." But something in Caleb's tone suggested he knew exactly why. "Just... be careful, Serenya. My brother is balanced on a knife's edge right now, and I don't know which way he's going to fall."
"I'm not doing anything to him."
"I know. That's what makes it worse." He stood abruptly. "I need to go. Promised Master Wren I'd help set up the training equipment. Brooke, meet me at the north training yard after your essay submission?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Brooke said, and the warmth in her voice made Caleb's strained expression soften.
"Good. Bring your appetite for violence. I'm going to teach you how to disarm a phoenix-bonded opponent." He nodded to the rest of us and left, his usual swagger slightly diminished.
"He's worried about Kairen," Torin said after a moment. "We all are. This is the worst we've seen him since right after the bonding."
"What happened right after the bonding?" I asked.
Torin and Terrance exchanged glances.
"He was unconscious for three days," Terrance said finally. "The bond nearly killed him. When he woke up, he was... different. Cold. Empty. Like someone had reached inside him and turned off all the lights."
"For the first month," Torin added, "his shadows were completely out of control.
They'd lash out at anyone who got too close, wrapped around him so thick you could barely see him.
It took him six months to achieve the level of control he has now.
Had now." He corrected himself grimly. "Whatever's happening with you, it's undoing years of careful discipline. "
"I'm not doing anything," I repeated.
"We know," Terrance said. "But that doesn't change the fact that his shadows reach for you. That his control fractures when you're near. That he's so terrified of what that means, he's literally rebuilding his life to avoid you."
"Why tell me this?"
"Because someone needs to understand what's at stake." Torin's voice was gentle but firm. "Kairen is my friend. One of the few people I trust completely. And watching him unravel is—" He shook his head. "Just be careful. Both of you."
Professor Veyra's classroom felt more oppressive today, the air thick with anticipation and dread. She stood at the front, her expression severe, as we filed in and placed our essays on her desk in a neat stack.
"I will read these tonight," she announced once we were all seated. "Tomorrow, I will return them with my assessments. Some of you will be pleased. Most of you will not. A few of you will need to schedule private meetings with me to discuss your spectacular failures in self-awareness."
Encouraging, as always.
"Today," she continued, "we're going to discuss something more practical: how to survive in the Wilderness without a bond."
She gestured, and an illusion sprang to life—a dense forest, shadows thick between ancient trees, the sound of distant howls echoing through the air.
"For seven days, you will be alone. No weapons beyond a knife.
No supplies beyond basic rations and a bedroll.
No magic except the weak, unfocused abilities all unbonded humans possess.
" Her eyes swept across us. "Most creatures will ignore you.
You're not interesting to them until you prove you might be worth bonding with.
But the Wilderness itself is dangerous. Predatory animals, poisonous plants, treacherous terrain, and weather that can kill you in hours if you're unprepared. "
The illusion shifted, showing a student huddled in the rain, shivering violently.
"Exposure kills more candidates than creatures do," Professor Veyra said. "Hypothermia, heat stroke, dehydration. These are your real enemies. Master them, or die."
She spent the next two hours teaching us practical survival skills—how to build a shelter, purify water, identify edible plants, create fire without magic. It was dense, technical information that everyone frantically scribbled into their notes.
I tried to focus, but my mind kept wandering to the essay sitting on Professor Veyra's desk. To the lies I'd written about basilisks. To the truth I couldn't write about light dragons.
"Miss Vale."
I jerked my attention back to Professor Veyra, who was looking at me with that unreadable expression she'd worn since the first class.
"Yes, Professor?"
"You seem distracted. Is there something more important than learning how not to die in the Wilderness?"
"No, Professor. Sorry."
"Hmm." She held my gaze for a moment longer. "Stay after class. We need to talk."
My stomach dropped. She'd already read my essay. She knew I'd lied.
The rest of the lecture crawled by in agonizing slowness. When Professor Veyra finally dismissed everyone, I stayed in my seat while the other students filed out. Brooke shot me a concerned look, but I waved her away.
Once the room was empty, Professor Veyra gestured for me to approach her desk.
"Miss Vale," she said, her voice neutral. "I wanted to speak with you privately about something."
"What is it professor?"
"Tell me, Miss Vale. What did you write your essay about?"
"Basilisks," I said quietly.
"Did you lie?"
"I..." I stopped. Took a breath. "I wrote about what made sense. What was logical. What wouldn't get me failed or sent for evaluation."
"That's not what I asked."
"Yes," I admitted. "I lied. Not about the basilisk information—that's all accurate. But about feeling compatible with them. I don't."
"What do you feel compatible with?"
The question hung in the air between us. I could lie again. Could deflect. Could protect myself.
But Professor Veyra was looking at me with something that wasn't judgment. Something that might have been understanding.
"Something extinct," I said finally. "Something impossible. Something that makes me sound delusional just for thinking it."
Professor Veyra was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Light dragons."
It wasn't a question.
"I know they're extinct," I said quickly.
"I know it's been three hundred years. I know believing I could bond with one is exactly the kind of delusion you warned us against. But when you showed that illusion, I—" My voice cracked.
"It felt like coming home. Like looking at something that should have been mine all along. "
"And the shadows," Professor Veyra said softly. "Kairen Draxen's shadows. They reach for you, don't they?"
I froze. "How did you—"
"I'm not blind, Miss Vale. I've seen the way his control fractures around you. The way his shadows move toward you against his will." She leaned forward slightly. "Do you know what Elara Moonwhisper wrote in her journals about shadow-bonded mages?"
"That their shadows reached for her. Like they recognized something."
"Exactly." Professor Veyra's expression was unreadable. "Light and shadow bonds were meant to complement each other. To seek each other out. Elara theorized that they were two halves of a whole—incomplete without each other."
"But light dragons are extinct."
"That's what the records say. Three hundred years without a confirmed sighting." She paused. "But the Wilderness is vast, Miss Vale. Ancient. There are places even we don't fully understand. Regions so remote, so heavily warded, that no human has walked them in centuries."
My heart was pounding. "Are you saying—"
"I'm saying nothing definitive. I'm saying that what you feel may not be delusion.
" She held my gaze. "I'm also saying that if a light dragon does still exist, and if it chooses you, you will face challenges that no other bonded human in three hundred years has faced.
The Academy doesn't know how to train light dragon bonds anymore.
The knowledge has been lost. You would be forging a completely new path. "
"I know."
"Do you?" Her voice turned sharp. "You're sick, Serenya. Your body is failing you daily. A light dragon bond might heal that—if the historical records are accurate. But it might also kill you. The bonding process is violent under the best circumstances. With your condition, it could be fatal."
"Living is fatal," I said. "I'm dying anyway. Slowly. Maybe a light dragon bond kills me faster. Or maybe it gives me a reason to survive."
Professor Veyra studied me for a long moment. "You remind me of her. Of Elara. She had that same stubborn refusal to accept limitations. That same quiet fire."
"Is that good or bad?"
"She died at thirty-one, defending the Academy during the Purge Wars.
So I suppose it depends on your perspective.
" Professor Veyra stood. "I'm going to fail your essay.
You lied, and that warrants failure. But I'm also going to give you an opportunity to rewrite it.
This time, tell the truth. Write about light dragons.
About why you feel drawn to them. About what Elara's journals described. "
"Won't that get me sent for evaluation?"
"Not if I'm the one reading it." She handed me back my essay, the word FAILED written across the top in red ink. "You have three days. Be honest this time. And Miss Vale?"
"Yes, Professor?"
"Stay away from Kairen Draxen until after the bonding trial. Whatever connection you two have, it's destabilizing him. He needs control to survive. You're breaking that control just by existing near him."
"He's been avoiding me anyway."
"Good. Keep it that way. For both your sakes." She dismissed me with a wave. "And consider what I said about the bonding process. If a light dragon chooses you, it might heal you. But it also might be the thing that finally kills you."
I left the classroom in a daze, clutching my failed essay.
Professor Veyra thought light dragons might not be extinct.
She thought what I felt might be real.
She thought I might actually have a chance.
Or die trying.
I went straight to the library.
If I was going to rewrite this essay honestly, I needed more information. More of Elara's journals. More about what light dragons actually wanted from their bonded humans.
The library was nearly empty this late in the afternoon. I climbed to the third floor, to the section on historical bonds and ancient texts.
And I felt it immediately.
That familiar prickle at the back of my neck. The sensation of being watched.
I turned slowly, scanning the shadows between the bookshelves.
Nothing. No one.
But the feeling persisted—cold awareness, like winter eyes tracking my every movement.
I grabbed several books on dragon bonds and settled into a corner chair, trying to ignore the sensation of being observed. But as I read, the feeling only grew stronger.
The shadows in the corner of my vision seemed darker than they should be. Deeper. Moving in ways that had nothing to do with the afternoon light slanting through the windows.
I set down my book and looked directly at the shadows.
They didn't retreat.
Instead, a single tendril stretched toward me—hesitant, almost shy—across the library floor.
"You're not supposed to be here," I whispered. "He's avoiding me. Remember?"
The shadow pulsed, and I felt it—guilt, conflict, desperate need. Not from me. From him.
Kairen was somewhere in the Academy, fighting to maintain control. Fighting to stay away from me.
But his shadows had stopped listening.
They'd come to find me on their own.
The tendril reached my boot, curled around my ankle with familiar cold silk. And even though I was sitting in a well-lit library in the middle of the afternoon, even though this was dangerous and reckless and exactly what Professor Veyra had warned against—
I reached down and touched it.
The relief was immediate. The constant ache in my chest eased. My breathing cleared. And I felt him with sudden, sharp clarity.
Kairen, in one of the training yards, his control fracturing as he felt his shadow touch me. Felt my fingers against the darkness he commanded.
Felt how right it was, even as it terrified him.
The shadow wrapped more firmly around my wrist, pulsing with something that felt almost like contentment.
And I sat there in the library, holding darkness in my hand, and wondered what it meant that his shadows chose me over him.
That they sought me out even when he was desperately trying to stay away.
That somewhere in this Academy, Kairen Draxen was losing a battle against his own magic.
Against a connection neither of us understood.
Against something that was slowly, inevitably, pulling us together.
Whether he wanted it or not.
Whether I was ready or not.
Whether it destroyed us both.