Chapter Four
Ahush fell over the students clustered near the railing, whispers fading into anticipation. Most of them bore scrapes and bumps. One girl’s arm was wrapped hastily in cloth. No one spoke of it. Not yet. They were all caught up in the moment and it was as if the attack had been a distant dream.
Cassara stepped forward, fingers tightening on the edge of the rail. This was it. This was the moment she had fought for.
Vallemont rose from the clouds like a dream carved from stone and stormlight.
The Central Spire speared skyward at the heart of the floating island, built from pale, weatherworn stone veined with gleaming metal.
A brilliant beacon crowned its peak, pulsing with magic, part navigational ward, part declaration.
Terraced walkways spiraled outward, linking towers, platforms, and courtyards, each rimmed in bronze and rune-lit steel.
Sky bridges arced over gorges and waterfalls that plunged into open air.
The main courtyard was visible even from this height, its massive compass rose glinting in the morning light.
Below it, the arena sat like a yawning scar, wide and waiting.
Cassara pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady the thud of her heart beneath her ribs. This wasn’t her father’s house.
This was hers.
No matter what came next, she’d made it, and no one, not Julian, not her father, not the threats he wielded like a blade, could take it from her.
The airship banked gently, leveling as it drew closer to their destination. Wind rushed past in controlled bursts as runes aligned and anchoring wards pulsed to life.
Auren’s voice rose from somewhere behind them. “First-years! Prepare for disembarkation. Keep to the right. You’ll be led through intake before the welcoming ceremony.”
Despite the instructions, Cassara didn’t move. Vallemont gleamed before her, vast and alive. She could already feel it breathing and she wanted one more second to stand at the edge of everything she’d fought for.
Nearby the gangway extended with a low hiss, steam curling around its braces as it locked into place. The runes beneath the deck pulsed, anchoring the ship to the platform, and a signal bell chimed somewhere beyond the railing.
They’d arrived.
Still, Cassara didn’t move, not until a warm hand touched her elbow and another pressed lightly against the small of her back.
It was Julian.
He said nothing, just guided her forward with that quiet, entitled ease of someone who had always known how to steer her without being asked.
Cassara didn’t resist, she was so caught up in the splendor of it all that she barely registered the touch.
She descended the ramp one slow step at a time, a rush of wind tugging at her coat, the platform alive beneath her feet with hums of warded energy.
Every breath she took felt too big for her chest.
She was here. She was finally-
An arm bumped her shoulder hard, right where she’d scraped herself raw against the metal ridge during the climb.
Pain flared hot beneath her coat, and Cassara stiffened, a sharp hiss escaping through her teeth. She caught her balance with a step, scowling as she turned her head.
“Oops, didn’t see you there,” Gideon called over his shoulder without bothering to look back. The movement hadn’t been aggressive, but it hadn’t been accidental, either.
Her arm throbbed as she watched him go.
Julian muttered under his breath beside her. Cassara didn’t catch the words, but the tone was unforgiving.
She shifted, just enough to ease the pressure between them. A half-step, almost nothing, the kind you could pass off as a balance adjustment or a better view of the spire, but it wasn’t either of those.
Cassara had suddenly needed distance, even if it was small. If Julian noticed, he said nothing, his hand continued to hover, claiming the space between them like it belonged to him.
There was something about that moment, the way it rewound her heartbeat and left a sour taste in her mouth, but Julian’s presence, despite being familiar, suddenly felt heavier than it had a second ago. It wasn’t unwelcome, not really, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be steered anymore.
Her gaze trailed after Gideon despite herself, catching just enough to see him pause near the far edge of the platform.
A girl stood waiting, tall, auburn-haired, her uniform crisp, her smile easy.
He said something Cassara couldn’t hear.
The girl laughed, and he answered with a grin, warm, real, the kind he hadn’t spared for anyone else all day.
The sight of it caused her breath to snag unexpectedly in her chest. She stamped down the flutter before looking away.
Focus, Cassara.
Whatever that was, it didn’t matter. Neither did Julian’s possessive touch, or Gideon’s lingering smirk, or the way they both stood like storms waiting to pull her in.
Her eyes lifted again to the Central Spire, to its pale stone and dark metal. Power incarnate.
This was why she’d come.
Not for them.
For herself.
Another instructor appeared at the head of the group barking for first-years to follow.
They formed something resembling a line as they moved along the path from the landing platform through a high-walled archway.
It was etched in flowing script that shimmered faintly as each student passed beneath it.
The ground under Cassara’s boots changed, shifting from metal to smooth, white marble shot through with faint veins of copper.
The main courtyard opened before them, the massive compass rose Cassara had seen from the air lay before them, carved directly into the stone.
Each directional point was inlaid with a different kind of metal: gold for North, silver for East, iron for South, and burnished bronze for West. Arcane sigils danced in and out of sight along the rim, pulsating too fast to read, like the courtyard itself was breathing.
The statue at the heart of it loomed over them, Vallemont himself, or so the plaque at its base said.
The statue was carved from dark stone and weathered steel, his cloak forever billowing in a wind that no longer touched it.
One arm was stretched skyward, a curved spear clenched in his fist, while the other was planted at his side with an open palm as if daring the sky to challenge him.
Cassara’s steps slowed as they passed it. Every part of the space pulled at her, commanding attention and demanding reverence.
Beyond the courtyard, a series of broad steps led them toward the spire’s base.
Ornate stained glass doors opened into a towering hall lined with shifting banners, each one emblazoned with a stylized beast mid-flight or coiled for battle.
A series of marble columns ran the length of the corridor, engraved with the names of prior graduates, years fading into centuries.
Her mother’s name would be somewhere on one of them.
Cassara didn’t look for it. Not yet.
They were led down a side corridor, narrower, but no less grand.
Wall sconces lit with pale magelight flickered as they passed, illuminating faded murals that stretched ceiling to floor: beasts and tamers mid-combat, wings and talons frozen in gold-leaf motion.
The air here was cooler. Quieter. Like the academy itself had drawn a breath and was holding it.
Finally, they stopped.
A wide set of doors opened into what could only be described as a holding room.
Not large, but ornate. Deep red velvet drapes framed tall, narrow windows.
A long wooden bench circled the room’s perimeter, polished to a shine.
In the center, a sunken sigil pulsed in a steady, soft rhythm, marking time, or perhaps tempering nerves.
“Wait here,” their escort said, voice clipped. “You’ll be called when it’s time.”
The door clicking shut behind him leaving fifty-six first year students in total to wait. But for what? Some whispered amongst themselves while others postured. A small handful pretended not to care.
Cassara didn’t sit, she was feeling too restless, anxious even.
Instead she crossed to the window, gaze sweeping the sky beyond.
Clouds churned in the distance, shot through with streaks of gold from the setting sun.
The view didn’t settle her like she had hoped.
Even now she thought she saw shadows moving, could picture with unsettling clarity the way the creature had unfurled from the clouds…
She heard him before he reached her. Julian’s footsteps didn’t rush, but they carried a certain precision now, quieter than usual, more cautious.
He came to stand beside her, not quite touching. “You should sit.”
Cassara didn’t move. Arms folded, she stared past the glass, its reflection catching the set of her mouth, the strain that hadn’t quite left her shoulders. “I’m fine.”
A moment of silence. “You nearly weren’t.”
Her gaze didn’t shift. “Is this where you scold me again? You’re not my father, Julian.”
Julian exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh. “No.” He hesitated, then added, quieter this time, “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”
She glanced at him, her expression sharp.
He met it anyway and took her silence as permission to keep talking. “It wasn’t anger. It was watching you climb into the rigging and knowing if you fell, there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do.”
The sharp retort she'd been preparing died in her throat. When he spoke to her like that, in that quiet, almost desperate way, she found it difficult to stay angry with him.
“You’re not invincible, Cass,” he continued, his voice just above a whisper. “And I guess I’m not interested in watching you try to prove otherwise.”
She didn’t answer right away. Her focus drifted back to the reflection in the glass.
“I didn’t do it to prove anything,” she murmured. “It had to be done.”
“I know,” he said. And for once, it didn’t sound like agreement for the sake of it. “But you don’t always have to be the one to do it alone.”