Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
T he air was thick with the presence of dragons, their massive forms flying over us, their wings kicking up dust in the Ascension Grounds. The other squads had called their dragons with ease, their bonds strong—trusted.
Mine?
Still absent.
Zander stood before us, his hands clasped behind his back, his lavender eyes scanning over our squad.
“This is your Binding Trial. The flat stone by my feet is a conduit. It will help you maintain the link with your dragon. You will do this to strengthen your bond and discover what elemental power you wield. Most of you should have the ability to call your magic, but if your dragon doesn’t anchor you, it will kill you. ”
A murmur rippled through our squad.
“Who wants to go first?”
Cordelle, ever eager, stepped forward. His dragon, Kasstovian, a sleek brown Swift, was one of the few to land. He crouched nearby, watching with curious golden eyes.
“Place your hand on the stone, Cordelle,” Zander instructed. “Let your dragon’s magic flow through you. Don’t force it. Let it find you.”
Cordelle nodded, his expression serious for once, and knelt onto the packed earth and placed his hand on the flat stone.
The moment his fingers met the ground, the air shimmered, like a ripple in a still pond. A warm glow emanated from beneath his palm, and then?—
The earth split open in a slow, deliberate crack, and from it, a sapling emerged.
I exhaled as the tiny green leaves unfurled, reaching toward the sunlight as if they had been waiting for this moment.
Cordelle gasped. “I—I did that?”
“Excellent, Cordelle.” Zander nodded approvingly. “You possess the power of Flourish.”
Cordelle stared at his hands, as if they suddenly belonged to someone else.
“We will now specialize your training,” Zander continued. “And see if you have a secondary power. All future magic training will be with Major Ledor.”
Cordelle’s wide-eyed excitement was contagious, but all I could think about was how my turn was coming.
And if Kaelith wasn’t here, what was I going to do?
Another prospect stepped forward, this one from Iron Fang. His name was Arman, and he held himself with the confidence of someone who expected to succeed.
I barely paid attention as he knelt, pressing his palm to the stone.
At first, nothing happened.
Then—the ground ignited.
A fissure of fire spread from his fingertips, racing up his wrist with unnatural speed.
Arman’s eyes widened in horror as flames engulfed his entire forearm, crawling up his skin like a living entity.
Then he screamed.
The sound was pure agony, slicing through the air like a blade.
Before I could process what was happening, a blur of white robes shoved past the crowd of cadets and prospects.
A healer.
I hadn’t even noticed her standing behind the group until now.
She didn’t hesitate. She snatched Arman’s wrist, her fingers digging into his burned skin.
The flames vanished—snuffed out in an instant.
The smell of charred flesh still lingered, but as she held his arm, his burns knitted together before our eyes.
“Thank you, Meri,” Zander said.
Meri only nodded, still clutching Arman’s wrist, her expression set in grim concentration.
Zander turned back to the rest of us, his voice cold, sharp, unforgiving.
“This,” he said, pointing to the shaking Iron Fang prospect, “is what happens when your dragon fails to anchor your power.”
The silence was stifling.
Zander let it hang there before continuing.
“Humans cannot withstand raw magic,” he stated. “If Meri had not been here to subvert the flow of power, Arman would have died.”
A chill settled over me.
We all understood the risks of training, but this?
This wasn’t some simple failure. This was death waiting in the shadows.
And my dragon—the one who should be anchoring my magic?
She still hadn’t come.
Zander’s sharp gaze swept over our squad before landing on Naia.
“Naia, you’re up.”
Naia cracked her knuckles before stepping forward, her dragon, Temil, an orange Swordtail, swooping in and landing behind her with a gust of wind. The sleek beast flicked his tail, watching her with an almost lazy interest.
Naia knelt, pressing her palm to the stone.
She grinned, anticipation clear on her face.
Nothing happened.
Zander didn’t react the way I expected. No disappointment, no irritation—just acceptance.
He nodded. “Kinetic Surge. That is a rare power. Congratulations.”
Naia’s looked, confused. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You will,” Zander said. “A Kinetic Surge stores force and releases it unpredictably. Your magic doesn’t manifest the same way as others—it builds over time, then explodes. You barely moved the grass, but I can detect even the slightest display of magic.”
That made me wonder what his power was.
Naia’s grin returned, sharper now. “That sounds fun.”
Zander barely acknowledged her amusement before turning to me.
“Ashlyn. You’re up.”
My stomach tightened.
Kaelith had not come, but I had no choice.
I stepped forward, heart hammering, and placed my hand on the cool stone.
The moment my skin made contact, something snapped.
The earth rumbled, a low, growing quake spreading out from my fingers.
The sky darkened, storm clouds swirling overhead as a deep, echoing thunder cracked through the air.
And then—fire.
Not outside. Inside.
My veins burned, molten and searing, crawling under my skin like liquid fire.
A ragged breath escaped me as pain unlike anything I had ever felt consumed me.
I reached for Kaelith, desperate, pleading.
She didn’t answer.
The fire raged hotter.
Zander’s voice cut through the roar in my skull.
“Meri!”
The healer was already moving, her white robes billowing as she rushed to me. The moment her hands touched my arm, the pain snapped back like a rubber band.
Coolness poured through me, a soft, soothing wave of relief rolling over the fire in my veins, quelling it before it could consume me completely.
My breath shuddered out, my forehead damp with sweat.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Meri’s gentle grip tightened, her gaze steady as she leaned in slightly.
“I feel your power,” she murmured. “You have healing ability.”
I hesitated but nodded. “I—I’m not sure I was supposed to be a rider.”
Meri studied me for a long moment, then shook her head.
“Once a connection is made to a dragon, it cannot be broken. At least, not by a halfling.”
I clenched my jaw. “I can’t get Kaelith to accept the bond.”
Meri’s expression turned grave.
“You must. Or you will die.” She helped me to my feet. “Eventually, even my power won’t save you.”
I barely had time to absorb that gut-wrenching fact before laughter snapped through the air.
Perin.
I whipped toward him, breath still ragged, but he was grinning cruelly.
“You are pathetic, Rebec,” he sneered.
The laughter from Iron Fang’s squad rippled through the air, but no one else was laughing. The other squads remained silent, watching.
Perin stepped forward, his smirk widening. “What’s wrong? Did the big, scary dragon reject you? Guess even the beasts know your kind doesn’t belong here.”
Before I could lash out, Naia cut in first.
“You got a problem, Perin?” she asked sweetly, stepping between us.
Perin snorted. “More than one.”
Naia’s eyes narrowed, her stance shifting dangerously.
“Then let’s settle it in the ring.” She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Unless, of course, you’re too much of a pussy.”
Jax grinned. “Come on, Perin. Surely, you’ll accept a challenge from a girl.”
Perin’s sneer deepened, and I could see the vein in his temple tick.
“I will,” he said, voice dripping with malice. “But if I win, I get to face Ashe next.”
His eyes gleamed with something dark, something ugly.
“It’s time we culled the commoners.”
Laughter erupted from Iron Fang’s squad, but the other squads didn’t join in.
And then—the air shifted.
The laughter died instantly.
All eyes turned.
A nobleman strode toward us, his presence suffocating, authoritative, and unmistakably royal.
His broad frame was clad in full military gear, dark and gleaming, his high collar embroidered with silver accents.
He was tall, his dark hair neatly tied back, his eyes cold and calculating.
At his hip, a broadsword rested in an intricate scabbard, the hilt bearing an engraved sigil—one I had seen before.
A royal crest.
A prince.
Zander’s jaw tightened as the nobleman approached, his steps measured, controlled—dangerous.
I didn’t have to be told who he was.
Even without the regal military gear, without the commanding presence, the resemblance was enough.
Theron Rayne.
The king’s second son—and unlike Zander, someone who had never bonded a dragon.
Zander barely inclined his head. “Theron, what can I do for you?”
Theron’s dark eyes swept over us, cold and calculating. He barely spared Thrall Squad a glance before speaking.
“I came to make some adjustments to the rules.”
A sinking feeling twisted my gut.
Theron clasped his hands behind his back, his chin lifting slightly, like we were insects beneath his boot.
“Commoners must be held to a higher standard,” he continued, as if he were discussing stock for a market, not human lives. “There will be no more interference from the healers unless the prospect has noble blood.”
The words hung in the air like a curse.
I tensed, fury rising in my chest, but it was Zander’s reaction that stole my breath.
His lavender eyes darkened—then turned black.
A slow, unnatural shift, like a storm was stirring in his very blood.
“I will not alter the rules for Thrall Squad,” Zander said.
Theron arched a brow, unimpressed.
“They are riders,” Zander continued, taking a step forward, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “The decision is that of their dragons, and they will have the same training as the nobles.”
Theron’s expression sharpened, but before he could respond, another figure approached.
This one I recognized instantly.
The black leathers he wore, nearly identical to Zander’s. The way his movements were fluid, sharp—like someone who had spent a lifetime training.
Dorian Rayne.
The eldest prince.
Dorian strode toward them, already exhaling as if he had been dragged into this conversation against his will.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
Zander didn’t answer.
Theron did.
“I am ensuring that only worthy riders survive the Binding Trials,” Theron said smoothly, ignoring the look Zander shot him.
Dorian grunted, unamused.
“Theron, you’re an idiot.”
Theron’s nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”
Dorian crossed his arms. “You’re not a rider, and you have no authority here. So, unless you’ve suddenly developed the ability to bond a dragon—” He made a mocking show of glancing behind Theron. “Oh, wait, you haven’t—so fuck off.”
I swore I saw Zander’s lips twitch, like he wanted to smirk.
Theron’s face darkened, his fingers twitching like he desperately wanted to punch his brother.
Still, he forced his expression to remain neutral and turned to Dorian.
“We do not need more riders,” Theron said, his voice tight with restraint. “But those who have been fully accepted by their dragons are welcome, of course.”
Dorian scoffed. “Right. So, only the ones who survive without healing? That’s a brilliant strategy, Theron.
Let’s just kill off the ones who haven’t mastered their bond yet.
” He shook his head. “We’re already losing ground every day in the outer kingdoms, and you want to start thinning out the only reinforcements we have? ”
Theron’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t respond.
Dorian ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration etched into his every movement.
“The outer kingdoms would be happy to take commoner reinforcements,” Dorian continued, his voice tighter now, like he was holding something back. “Especially dragon riders. We’re already stretched thin enough—if we keep wasting resources, it won’t be long before the enemy reaches Warriath itself.”
The enemy.
My mind raced.
And then?—
The vault.
The messages.
I swallowed hard, recalling the letters I had read that hinted at betrayal within the kingdom.
Had my father been right?
Was there someone within the castle working against the crown?