Chapter 7 History Class
“First-years, why are we fighting dragons?” Professor Vao asked, his voice cutting sharply through the room, as precise as a blade drawn quickly later that afternoon.
The question wasn’t meant to be answered. Not aloud.
We sat in tiered rows of the history lecture hall, flooded by first-year students of all legions displaying.
Shafts of light streamed through the arched, crystal-cut windows, casting fractured rainbows over our desks and robes.
The light didn’t warm the room, but it dazzled nonetheless, as if trying to distract us from the weight of the question.
I was between the twins, Tran and Rowan, with their wild red hair and matching smirks, always hinting at mischief.
Their eyes were sharp. Though they slouched, as if bored, I knew they listened to every word.
Shakari sat beside Rowan; arms crossed and jaw tight, clearly unimpressed.
On my other side, Soehl had already started taking notes in her impeccable script, even though we’d barely heard six words.
No one raised a hand to answer Professor Vao.
No one needed to.
Everyone at Elarion knew the answer. We'd been told about it a hundred times. A thousand. It was in the songs sung at ceremonies, the tapestries that lined the halls, and the stories told to children before bed.
“Because of those who corrupted their souls by binding themselves with ancient dragons. The wildweavers,” Soehl said quietly, almost to herself.
Professor Vao descended the central staircase of the lecture hall like a blade unsheathing. Each step landed with intention. A hush swept the room as every gaze followed him.
“Miss Cheryn,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber, “please speak louder and elaborate.”
Soehl cleared her throat, fingertips brushing the base of her neck. “There are creatures like dragons that are not merely alive, they are magic. wildweavers discovered a way to bind their souls to them. As we use the island to channel our magic, they use their dragons.”
Her tone dropped lower.
“They found a new order of magic, one where magic could be taken freely, where creatures were tools, not life.”
Soehl’s eyes flickered to mine.
“After the first attacks on the island, Velvet Solenhart suspected those with magical traces that could command animals and hunted them three hundred years ago. But that is just a theory. Many historians think the wildweavers were and are just local inhabitants of the Wastelands.”
A chill crawled through me. Even though it was just a theory, it justified why the crown killed Lorik’s sister.
A little girl, caught between ancient power and even older fear.
She hadn’t chosen her gift, but the island had chosen her fate.
Too much had been at stake; too many risks crowded every choice.
Too much fear.
And fear, in the Solenhart line, had always demanded sacrifice.
“Expand on that theory, please,” Vao asked, lifting his chin full of curiosity. “There is no magic in the Wastelands. Perhaps the locals found a way to bind themselves to dragons to feed power through them.”
“That is an excellent summary of our history,” Professor Vao said as he reached the stone circle at the center of the room. “But that is what happened. What I asked you was: Why are you fighting dragons and The wildweavers?”
That landed harder. Even Shakari’s eyes flickered toward him, her defiance momentarily paused
“We need to kill those parasites. We have no choice." Shakari didn’t glance up, her words landing hard and unadorned, her tone hard-edged and flat.
Professor Vao tilted his head, unimpressed. “Typical Dragontail answer. Strength without hesitation. Fear without reflection.”
She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t complete right either.
I blurted, unable to contain it: "Because Rionis’ heart must be protected." The words sounded bolder, almost desperate, as if some old worry leaked through.
Silence fell, heavy and sudden.
Then Vao turned fully toward me, his gaze sharp. Not unkind, but assessing, as if weighing the truth in every syllable I’d spoken.
“Very well said.” His voice was low and unreadable. “Let’s get deeper into that topic. What is the heart of Rionis, and why is it so important to us?”
Professor Vao’s stare pinned me in place, leaving me no choice but to go on.
“The God of the Sun, Solvir, and the Goddess of the Moon, Lunareth, created three islands in the heart of the Atlantic Ocean, Rionis, Osiris, and Polaris,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
“Each island was given a heart, a stone buried at its center that sustains all magic. Solvir shaped the Sunhearts in his image, gifting them golden eyes and power drawn from sunlight. Lunareth shaped the Moonveils in hers, silver-eyed and charged by moonlight.”
I swallowed, knowing every student was listening now, and continued.
“It doesn’t matter which faction we’re from or what magic trace your blood carries. Without the heartstone, none of us has magic. Without it… the island dies. And it is right to suspect that those parasites want the core of our island to deplete its magic and use it for themselves.”
“Precisely! I can see the Emberkeep in you. I am glad we will be seeing you in Emberkeep going forward.” Professor Vao responded, practically vibrating with excitement.
Word traveled fast. Within just a few hours, everyone already knew I was assigned to attend all Emberkeep coursework.
Rowan noticed me sitting uncomfortably beside him and broke the silence, cutting through the stares with a question:
“What happened to the other islands?”
Professor Vao looked at Rowan with sadness in his eyes.
“After we cast the Auroric Veil around our island three hundred years ago, contact with them has been rare. We once traded freely with Osiris and Polaris, but after the first dragon attacks everything changed. Our neighbors raised veils, too. Since then, any contact has been limited and strictly confidential.”
A breath moved through the room. The kind that only came after truth was spoken.
“Now, a question for the Dragontail legion students: How do you plan to kill dragons and the wildweavers?” Professor Vao asked with intrigue.
“We pierce magic through their heart.” I heard a response from the back row.
“But what type of magic do you need to aim at its heart, and why? You need to be specific with your responses.” Professor Vao insisted, almost with a bit of frustration or disappointment.
“Sunheart and Moonveil magic,” I answered.
“Dragons are ancient born of magic. They don’t just channel it; they are magic.
They don’t draw power from the sun or the moon as we do.
Alone, Sunhearts or Moonveils can only wound them, regardless of the type of dragon they are.
To destroy them, we must pierce them with both sunfire and shadow.
When a dragon dies, the wildweavers who control it die too. ”
“Now we know why the Siren stole you from Emberkeep,” Professor Vao said, a flicker of realization in his tone. My eyes dropped to the floor beneath his gaze.
“I can see you in war, Miss Solenhart,” he added, voice steady but thoughtful.
A few murmurs rippled through the back of the class.
“Hardly see her in war,” someone muttered, followed by a few quiet laughs. I didn’t look up but the heat rising beneath my skin felt like fire.
“Students, please, no mocking in my class. What happens if you kill the wildweaver? What happens to the dragon?”
“The dragon is a free creature again,” Rowan responded almost immediately. “We don’t want free dragons. Those of us in the Dragontail Legion need to kill them all.” A female voice rang out from the back, echoing through the atrium. Murmurs rippled across the room, and my breath caught at the words.
There was so much hatred toward dragons that some wanted them all dead, regardless of whether they were bound to wildweavers or not. I could almost understand it. We had suffered for so long.
But free dragons, in theory, wouldn’t be attacking us.
“Order. Order in my class. This is not a market. I know that is an interesting debate topic, but not for this class. Next question. What type of dragons will you find out there?”
“Magma dragons, fire dragons, ice dragons, and lightning dragons,” Tran responded with confidence.
“And what type of magic can a wildweaver master?” Vao asked, his gaze sharp, challenging Tran to answer again.
“They master the same magic their dragon breathes,” Tran said firmly. “For example, a wildweaver bound to a lightning dragon will wield lightning along with additional, unknown traces of magic, just like us Moonveils and Sunhearts.”
A chill crept up my spine. The air in the room shifted, heavy with something ancient and wrong. wildweavers were parasites of magic. They were chaos given form and far more powerful than any of us dared to admit.