Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Major Kaler held up one hand, his expression grim but not unkind. “Fifteen-minute break. Ready yourselves. This next trial won’t be easy.”
Zander glanced down at his tunic, the soot and dried blood still clinging to the fabric from our journey. Without a word, he turned and left the Ascension Grounds, no doubt heading to don his flight armor. He didn’t look back.
I rubbed a smear of dust off my cheek and grimaced. I wasn’t exactly presentation-ready either.
Riven appeared at my side and bumped her shoulder into mine. “Barracks?”
I nodded, and we slipped away together.
Inside the stone-walled dormitory, the others were already removing gloves and splashing water onto their faces.
The scent of ash and sweat clung to everything.
I gave them the short version. Our flight, Kaelith’s return, Siergen’s cryptic approval, and our encounter in the village with the smith and the realignment of dragon loyalty.
Jax let out a short whistle. “So that was you two taking a small vacation.”
Ferrula snorted. “About time the crown got a wakeup call.”
I grinned, grabbing a cloth to wipe down my arms and neck. It felt good to tell them about our time away from the guild.
But the moment didn’t last.
A short horn blast echoed from the Ascension Grounds. Time was up.
We grabbed our gear and jogged back out, falling into formation behind the Thrall Squad banner. Our dragons were perched at the edge of the cliffs, watching with eerie stillness.
Then I saw him.
Zander.
He wasn’t with us.
My gaze tracked across the grounds and found him… standing with Crownwatch.
Whispers passed between him and Cade, their heads close together. Zander’s jaw was tight, his brow furrowed like thunderclouds were building behind his eyes.
What the hell?
The realization hit like a punch to the ribs.
The majors had separated us.
And Zander looked ready to burn down the sky because of it.
Major Ledor stepped forward, his boots crunching against the worn stone of the Ascension Grounds. A hush fell as every rider turned to face him, banners fluttering in the breeze, dragons watching from the cliffs above like silent sentinels.
“This next trial,” he began, his voice carrying clearly, “is called The Crescent Bridge.”
My brows drew together as I exchanged a glance with Riven. The name alone sounded ominous.
“The Crescent Bridge,” Major Ledor continued, “was once an ancient path carved through magic and stone—suspended high above the chasm of the Lowvale. Only true riders, bonded in both magic and trust, could pass its span unscathed. Now, it exists as a fractured echo of what once was. Pieces of it remain, just enough for you to fall to your deaths if you fail.”
He let that settle before pacing forward, hands clasped behind his back.
“This trial will test not just your flight or your power, but your bond. You will not complete it alone. You will be paired with another member of your squad, and together, you must cross. One of you will guide, the other will follow, trading roles at the halfway mark. If your communication falters, if your instincts are not aligned…” He let his voice fade off as he gestured to the great cliffs behind him.
The illusion shimmered to life then, runes flaring blue against the air, revealing the Crescent Bridge hovering high in the distance, an arch of fragmented stone platforms and floating crystalline steps suspended over a seemingly bottomless ravine.
Gaps yawned between pieces, some wide enough to need a leap aided by dragon wings, others twisted midair as if to disorient. Magic hummed between each broken segment, an ancient enchantment, testing intent, magic, and will.
“You will not be allowed to summon your dragons to carry you,” Ledor added. “Only their magic may guide you. Those with unstable bonds may find the bridge unstable as well. We will choose your partners.”
My stomach twisted.
“Barmon. Bern,” Major Ledor called, voice echoing across the grounds like a drawn blade. “You’re up.”
Jax and Ferrula exchanged a quick nod. No dramatic glances, no whispered strategy. Just a shared look that said We’ve got this.
They stepped forward without hesitation, shoulders squared and boots hitting the earth in perfect rhythm. Koddos let out a growl of encouragement from the cliffside while Narvea crouched like a coiled spring, with her eyes focused and tail twitching.
The Crescent Bridge shimmered above them. Fractured platforms suspended by ancient magic, pulsing faintly as if sensing their approach. A gust of wind cut across the valley, tugging at Ferrula’s clothing and Jax’s hair, but neither flinched.
Ferrula went first.
She took the lead like she did everything else, in full stride and without apology.
Her movements were quick and decisive, almost too fast to follow.
The first leap was nothing. The second was longer, the air around the stones growing hazy with magic.
She didn’t hesitate, twisting midair and landing in a roll that brought her to her feet with effortless grace.
Jax followed just behind, slower but steadier, his movements powerful and precise.
His magic pulsed like a heartbeat around his limbs, stabilizing each step with subtle bursts of energy—never flashy, but deeply rooted.
Ferrula looked back only once, and that was all it took.
He gave her a nod, and they moved again.
At the midpoint, they switched.
Jax stepped forward, lifting a hand slightly to guide the rhythm now, and Ferrula dropped back with a smirk, unbothered by ceding control. His magic shimmered beneath her boots with each platform she crossed, giving her the extra lift when the steps began to spiral in a dizzying twist.
Together, they moved like they’d trained for this all their lives.
No shouting. No faltering. Just movement and trust.
When they reached the final platform, the bridge emitted a slight hum, and the last step solidified fully beneath their feet as if accepting them.
Cheers rose from our squad, but neither Ferrula nor Jax looked surprised.
They turned and jogged back down the ridge, and Ferrula ran her hand over her shaved head with a smirk.
“Easy,” she said, brushing a speck of dust from her leathers as they rejoined us.
Jax just gave me a sideways grin. “No pressure, right?”
Two members of Iron Fang were already stalking toward the starting point before Major Ledor had even finished recording Ferrula and Jax’s successful run.
“Dalric. Monn.” His tone didn’t carry even a whisper of encouragement.
The two men nodded curtly, rigid in that Iron Fang way that always made it seem like they were on the verge of barking orders at someone, even each other.
They took off across the Crescent Bridge with military precision, every motion clipped and exact. But that was the thing about precision, it didn’t leave room for instinct.
The moment the platforms began to shift, subtly reacting to the emotional resonance between rider and dragon, Dalric’s balance faltered.
Monn was just a breath behind him when it happened.
One foot missed its mark, and Dalric slipped, arms pinwheeling before one hand caught the jagged edge of a hovering stone. His boots dangled in open air, the magic below surging and crackling like it was punishing hesitation.
Gasps rose around the field.
“Fail,” Major Ledor said coldly, before turning his back on them.
Two sets of stairs shimmered at the edge of the broken bridge, conjured from Major Ledor’s magic. The men scrambled on with blank expressions and stiff, synchronized movements, as they descended. The pair muttered curses under their breath while Dalric’s face flushed a dangerous red.
The murmurs in the crowd didn’t help.
More pairs followed from Crownwatch, Stormforge, and Warborn.
Some stumbled. Some fell on the bridge. A few leaped across the final platform with triumph scrawled across their faces.
But for each success, there were more missteps, more humbling defeats.
The stairs at the base of the ridge grew more crowded with disgruntled cadets nursing wounded pride.
Then Major Ledor’s voice rang out again.
“Rebec. Olm.”
My breath caught.
Luthias? I hadn’t worked closely with him before. The lowborn nobles had joined us late, and we had never worked one-on-one. Still, he seemed solid with his bald head gleaming and his broad shoulders practically bulging out of his leather armor. He gave me a quiet nod, eyes calm and unreadable.
We stepped forward together.
The Crescent Bridge loomed. An impossible path of faith and instinct waiting to test just how deep our bond ran. I squared my shoulders and exhaled.
Luthias stepped onto the first platform with all the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need words to lead. His green Clubtail rumbled low from the cliffs, the sound distant but grounding. The stone beneath his feet shimmered, responding to his magic—rooted, deliberate, solid.
I followed, my boot touching the first slab of floating crystal, and instantly I felt it. The pull. Not just from the bridge, but from deep inside me. It wasn’t about balance or strength.
It was about anchoring.
The Crescent Bridge didn’t want my body. It wanted my bond. My soul. My magic.
I reached for Kaelith in my mind, even before I meant to. The second I did, the bridge reacted, shimmering more clearly, the next platform locking into place as if Kaelith’s presence gave it permission to exist. But it wasn’t smooth. Not like it had been for Jax and Ferrula.
Kaelith shifted her weight high on the cliffs, her wings half-flared, tail coiled with tension. She was watching. She felt it too. Our bond wavered like heat over stone, unstable and uncertain.
Not broken, but not whole.
I tried to push that thought down and focused on Luthias.
He was already a quarter of the way ahead, moving across a stretch of broken platforms that swirled in leisurely spirals. He paused, turned slightly, and gave me a hand signal, three fingers curled in, one extended.
Switch.
It was my turn to lead.
I nodded once and stepped ahead, magic pressing forward like a breath through my skin. The moment I took the lead, something shifted in the bond.
Or maybe not just something—Kaelith.
My pulse stuttered.
The platform beneath me swayed violently as Kaelith’s magic trembled through me like a living thing, raw and unfiltered. She was trying to help. But she wasn’t stable yet. Her evolution had only just begun, and the bond we shared felt... stretched. Like a bridge made of silk instead of steel.
My knees buckled.
“Rebec!” Luthias called, his voice tense but not panicked.
I forced my magic out, just enough to catch the edge of the next platform. It locked into place beneath my boot, but I was gasping. Magic spiraled around me like wind without direction.
Kaelith... please.
I am trying, she whispered in my mind. But I am not whole yet, and neither are we.
I gritted my teeth. I could feel Luthias behind me, ready to jump forward if I slipped.
But I hadn’t come this far to fall.
One step.
Then another.
The bridge groaned under the weight of our shifting bond.
But I moved forward. Because even in her chaos, Kaelith was still trying, and so was I.
Hein launched from the cliffs like a thunderbolt, the wind shrieking as his massive silver wings cut the sky. I barely had time to cry out before the bridge beneath me gave a sickening lurch—then shattered.
Magic crackled like splintering glass.
Luthias shouted my name behind me, but the platform he was on peeled away. He dove back to solid ground, his boots skidding as he landed safely. I wasn’t so lucky.
I was falling.
The wind punched the breath from my lungs, the shimmer of the shattered Crescent Bridge fading above me. I twisted midair, my body weightless, helpless, tumbling toward the jagged earth—
Until heat and muscle caught me like a cradle of steel.
Scales slammed into my back, firm and impossibly warm, and I let out a strangled breath as Hein’s roar thundered above the gasps of the watching riders.
We hit the ground with a bone-jarring jolt, but Hein absorbed the impact, curling slightly as he landed with a grace that didn’t match his size. The moment he lowered his wing, Zander was there, his hands already reaching for me.
“You can’t escape me that easily,” he murmured, half breathless as he pulled me into his arms.
His voice was teasing, but his hands were trembling.
I clung to him for a second, my heart still in my throat, but then Hein turned.
The massive silver dragon swung his head toward Major Ledor, his molten eyes narrowing.
Fire sparked in his throat.
Low. Rumbling. Threatening.
“Hein…” Zander began, but even he sounded unsure.
The major stood frozen, his lips parted in a wordless command that never came.
Because Hein stepped forward.
One measured step. Then another.
The glow in his chest built to a searing orange, casting flickering shadows on the stunned faces around the grounds. His growl deepened—warning, ancient, furious.
Major Ledor didn’t move.
Not until Siergen’s voice echoed through the bond. Hold, Hein. Your fire is righteous, but she is unharmed.
The glow dimmed.
Just barely.
But Hein’s eyes never left the major, and every rider in the Ascension Grounds understood one thing without it being spoken—
Hein had caught me.
And the next time they failed to act fast enough…
They would pay… with their lives.