Chapter 3
Tess
"Enough."
Silvius's voice carried from the central platform, cutting through the murmuring crowd. My chest tightened. The awe that had filled the arena moments before—that sacred feeling of witnessing something unprecedented—collapsed into confusion.
"What has transpired here," Silvius continued, his tone growing colder with each word, "represents a breach of protocol that endangers the stability of this Guild."
A breach of protocol. That's what he called it. Not a miracle. Not the dragons choosing their riders in a display of power and connection that had left the entire arena breathless. A breach.
My fists clenched hard enough that my nails bit into my palms. Thalon's presence flared hot beneath my ribs, his displeasure thrumming through my bones—and deeper still, that second heartbeat pulsed hard, the one that had lived inside my chest since the Draconis Heart merged with me.
It wasn't just him—all the dragons were radiating a low, dangerous energy.
"All unchosen applicants will remain for evaluation of anomalies," Silvius declared. "This... irregularity requires thorough investigation."
His gaze swept across the arena, taking in the dragons and their newly bonded riders with obvious distaste. When his eyes found mine, something cold lodged itself behind my sternum. Like he was deciding how to contain me.
"Everyone will disperse," Silvius commanded, invoking Guild authority as though it could override what had just happened. "The dragons and their chosen riders will stand down and await further instruction. This... choosing is pending review."
Pending review. Like the dragons' choices were subject to bureaucratic approval. Like their ancient wisdom could be overruled by paperwork and politics.
For a heartbeat, it looked like the crowd might actually obey. People began to shift, to turn away, uncertainty winning out over the wonder they'd just witnessed. My jaw locked. This was wrong. This was—
"You forget the First Flight."
The voice cut through Silvius's authority. Councilor Elara Windmere Windmere stepped forward from the opposite dais, her calm presence somehow managing to fill the entire arena despite her glamoured appearance as an elderly human woman.
"The bonded have not yet risen together," she continued, and certainty filled her tone. Certainty that made Silvius's commands seem suddenly small and petty.
The reminder rippled through the assembled dragons—wings shifted, eyes ignited with color. The low rumble that had been building beneath their displeasure grew stronger, more purposeful. This wasn't just tradition she was invoking—this was sacred.
Silvius's jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, the sound of footsteps drew every gaze in the arena.
A tall figure moved to stand behind Silvius—no herald announcing his arrival, no guards clearing his path.
Just presence.
The temperature dropped. My breath caught halfway up my throat.
The arena fell silent. Even the dragons' rumbling died to nothing.
He felt wrong—a cold spot that pulled warmth from the air around him. Perfect features that belonged in a museum, not on a living face. My stomach twisted. Shoulder-length black hair. Skin so pale it was almost luminous. And eyes—
Black eyes that caught no light at all.
Empty. Bottomless.
My hands went numb.
He smiled, and it wasn't warmth. It was possession. Ownership.
The kind of smile that said he already knew how this ended.
Silvius straightened imperceptibly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. The authority he'd been wielding moments before seemed steadier now—as though the man behind him had given him permission to stop fighting alone.
But before either of them could speak, another voice joined the fray.
"Tradition exists for reason." Moriyana glided from her tier, her massive red form moving with the grace of centuries.
She positioned herself beside Councilor Windmere, and suddenly the divide in the arena became physical—one half of the dais shrouded in shadow, the other lit by the warmth radiating from the dragons.
"The dragons will fly," she said, and her voice resonated through the arena. Not a suggestion. Not a request. A statement of fact.
The tension stretched between the two factions. On one side, Silvius and his mysterious supporter, wielding authority and intimidation. On the other, Councilor Windmere and Moriyana, representing something older and deeper than Guild politics.
And caught in the middle—us. The newly bonded riders and our dragons, the center of a conflict we hadn't asked for but couldn't escape.
That's when the dragons began to move.
It started subtly—claws scraping against stone, wings flexing in preparation, heads turning in perfect synchronization. But there was nothing subtle about the energy building beneath it. Power hummed through the arena, ancient purpose that wouldn't be denied by bureaucracy or intimidation.
A low rumble rolled beneath us—not quite sound, not quite vibration, but a pressure that resonated in my bones. My teeth ached with it. It built in my chest, expanding outward until I couldn't tell where my heartbeat ended and Thalon's began.
The message was clear, Try to stop us.
For a moment that stretched too long, Silvius stared at the dragons. His face was a mask of controlled fury, but I watched the calculation flicker behind his eyes—the moment he realized that whatever authority he wielded, whatever power his mysterious ally represented, it wasn't enough.
Not against bonded dragons who had made their choice. Not against creatures whose magic ran deeper than Guild politics or borrowed intimidation.
Fear crept into his expression, just for an instant, before he masked it.
The pause stretched. Then he signaled retreat.
Some of the instructors followed his lead, melting back into the crowd with obvious relief. Others lingered, watching the dragons, unwilling to miss whatever was about to happen.
I caught a flash of dark hair and emerald eyes near the eastern arch—Theron, standing with the other senior instructors. His gaze found mine across the arena. Held. Just for a beat. Then his jaw tightened and he looked back to the dais, his face giving nothing away.
The last time I'd seen him was at the trial. He'd been in the front row when Kane denounced me. He hadn't said a word. Hadn't moved. Whatever this was—whatever was happening now—was the first time we'd been in the same room since.
I didn't know what to do with that.
But the man behind Silvius didn't move.
He just watched, those black eyes taking in every detail with the patience of a predator who knew his time would come.
Whoever he was, whatever he represented, this wasn't over.
This was just the beginning.