Chapter 4.
The cold found her first.
It always did.
Branches clawed at her skin, brittle and sharp, like bone fingers reaching from the dark. Frost bit through the thin fabric at her knees, her arms. Her breath came in clouds she couldn't see, her eyes swollen too tight to open fully.
She was alone.
No voices this time. No soldiers. Just the crackling silence of snow crusting over blood.
Her body screamed. Her mind begged.
But she didn't cry out. Not anymore.
Not again.
She curled tighter, chest heaving in the dark—
And woke.
Her bunk was soaked through with sweat.
Aeliana sat up, jaw clenched, arms wrapped around herself like armor. Her breath caught in her throat. Not from fear.
From fury.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, listening to the stillness of the barracks. Just the low hum of wind outside, the slow breaths of sleeping cadets. No one else was up. Not yet.
She moved like muscle memory — quiet, smooth. Pulled on her uniform pants, laced her boots tight. Left the long-sleeved undershirt loose on her frame. Tied her hair back.
By the time her feet hit the stone corridor outside, the nightmare was already fading — not gone, never gone, but caged.
The morning air hit her like a slap.
Sharp, clean.
She exhaled once. Then started to run.
Her boots beat a rhythm into the path behind the dorms — around the back curve of the academic wing, through the narrow side trail near the armory, down toward the flight field where the fog still clung to the grass in silver sheets.
She ran like she used to in Rathmere.
Alone. In silence. To remind herself that her legs still worked, that her lungs still held breath, that she had power over this if nothing else.
It was how she'd survived the early days with the blacksmith's family.
It was how she stayed sane now.
By the time the sun crested the edge of the citadel walls, Aeliana had already circled the flight field twice, cooled down, and returned to the barracks.
She moved quietly, slipping through the rows of bunks, her sweat-damp shirt clinging to her spine. Most cadets were just beginning to stir — groggy, stiff from the day before. The air was filled with low curses, rustling fabric, the distant clang of boots hitting the floor.
Liam glanced up from where he sat lacing his boots at the edge of his bunk. His brow lifted when he spotted her.
"You run marathons in your sleep now?" he muttered, voice still gravel from waking.
Aeliana grabbed a fresh shirt from her pack and tossed her sweat-soaked one into a tight roll.
"Didn't sleep."
He didn't ask more than that — just nodded, like he got it.
Because he did.
~
The squad assembled just after sunrise — second squad, tail section — stretching in staggered lines on the gravel practice yard behind the barracks. The mist was just beginning to lift, sunlight catching on the beads of dew clinging to their boots.
Vessa stood waiting for them, slate under her arm, eyes steady but not cold.
"You've all made it through assessment," she began, her voice carrying without sharpness. "Which means you're no longer candidates. You're cadets."
She let that settle, then added, "But that doesn't mean you're ready."
A few cadets tensed. Aeliana didn't move.
"This quadrant will try to kill you. Some days, it might feel like your own squad will. I'm here to make sure that when you walk into the next challenge, you have every tool possible to walk back out.
Her gaze swept down the line. "I don't care if you've been training since you could walk or if the Parapet was your first real fight — we start together. As a unit."
Aeliana glanced at Liam beside her. His jaw flexed, but his posture was relaxed.
"We begin with fundamentals," Vessa continued. "Reflex, stamina, partner trust, Reaction time. Until I can trust you not to trip over your own feet during drills."
Liam muttered low enough for only Aeliana to hear: "Trip? I could do this blindfolded."
"Then close your eyes and do us all a favor," she whispered back.
He huffed a laugh through his nose, the sound short but genuine.
"Now let's move."
The first drills were straightforward: core strength, reaction tests, controlled agility. The kind of things Aeliana could do while half-asleep. She moved without hesitation, matched pace easily.
By midmorning, she was drenched in sweat again, jaw clenched to hide her impatience. Beside her, Liam looked about the same — coiled frustration masked behind bored precision.
On the final round of drills, they were paired for a reflex circuit. Liam ended up across from her.
"Of course," he said under his breath as he squared up.
Aeliana raised one brow. "Afraid to lose?"
"To you?" His grin was faint but familiar now. "Maybe."
They moved quickly, trading light taps and blocks as Vessa called out variations. Each round ended with one of them scoring a contact hit — forearm, shoulder, hip. Nothing hard, nothing flashy.
But something had changed.
Aeliana could feel it in the way they moved — like they'd already figured each other out.
By the end of the set, Liam stepped back and offered his hand to help her up from the crouch she'd finished in.
She took it.
Across the field, Vessa nodded once at the two of them — then turned her attention back to the rest of the squad.
The drills wound down just before midday.
Cadets collapsed in loose circles along the edge of the yard, stretching sore muscles and half-heartedly gulping water. The air buzzed with muttered curses, laughter, and the low scrape of boots against stone.
Aeliana stood apart with Liam, near the low wall where a sliver of shade cut across the practice ground. Her sleeves were still tugged down, snug beneath the fingerless gloves she always wore — the soft leather cracked from use, edges stitched tight around the knuckles.
They hid just enough.
Liam ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, grinning as he looked toward the others still stumbling through the last round of footwork. "Think we just passed the test?"
Aeliana didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
Vessa approached from across the yard, calm and direct as always — slate board tucked under one arm, sharp eyes sweeping between them.
"That was solid," she said, stopping in front of them. "You two moved like you've trained together before."
Liam arched a brow. "We haven't."
Vessa's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close. "Could've fooled me."
She glanced back toward the rest of the squad — two cadets tripping over each other in a reflex drill, one sprawled flat and swearing.
"Most of them are starting from scratch," she said. "Balance, timing, control — it's all new. But you two? You're ahead of the curve."
Aeliana shifted her weight slightly, hands still at rest.
"Use it," Vessa continued. "Train together when you can. Or with second-years — ones who won't break you, but won't go easy either."
Liam tilted his head. "That an order?"
"A suggestion," she said. "A smart one."
She paused, gaze settling on them again, more thoughtful this time.
"I don't need you to carry anyone. But I do need you sharp. This squad's going to be tested, and I'd rather not lose the ones already capable of thinking two steps ahead."
Then she turned and called for reset drills, already moving on.
Liam let out a long breath, dropped back into a crouch. "She terrifies me less than the others. Still kinda terrifying, though."
Aeliana kept her eyes forward, watching the next pair square off.
"She wants us alive," she said. "That's more than most."
Liam huffed. "Can't argue with that."
~
The classroom smelled faintly of copper ink, scorched wood, and chalk.
Aeliana took her seat near the outer edge of the curved lecture space — not too close to the front, not too isolated — and pulled a blank page into her notebook.
Her wraps stayed on, sleeves pulled tight beneath the table's edge. Always.
Professor Kaori didn't enter so much as materialize — striding in through the side door with his long coat already sweeping behind him and his eyes gleaming like he was still halfway inside a battlefield.
"Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach..." he began, and with a flick of his hand, a Green Daggertail appeared — six feet tall and coiling in the center of the lecture ring, conjured from nothing but illusion and expertise.
Aeliana blinked once, almost leaning forward.
So this was the class with the mind-illusionist.
No wonder the others had been buzzing about it at dinner.
The Green shimmered, twisted, and shifted — becoming a Red Scorpiontail, snorting fire through spectral nostrils.
"They're temperamental," Kaori continued, "especially Ghrian here. Offend him, and you're—"
"Lunch," said a voice two rows ahead — the funny guy with floppy brown hair who kept cracking jokes during orientation.
The room chuckled.
Even the arrogant blonde across from him, Jack Barlow — the one who'd broken someone's neck during sparring — gave a short snort.
Kaori didn't scold. He just nodded with a dry smile. "Precisely."
Aeliana let her quill hover over the parchment.
Her eyes didn't leave the illusion.
Kaori turned. "So what's the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?"
Someone in the far row — a woman with a braid tight to her neck — called out the correct answer: "From the left and front. Calm. Never back them into a corner."
"Good. And this year, there are three willing to bond." The image changed again — now a long, lean bronze with smoke curling from its nostrils.
A few more questions were thrown, names she didn't know. But she listened. Tracked every shift of Kaori's illusions.
Then he changed the image again — to a dark blue, scaled like stormwater and as tall as the classroom ceiling.
The blue dragon shimmered in the center of the lecture hall — coils gleaming like deep ocean steel, spectral eyes narrowed, wings tucked but radiating tension.
Aeliana's heart knocked once against her ribs.
She knew that one.
She remembered the wind, the scent of sulfur, the way those golden eyes had locked on her like they already knew everything.
Kaori spoke, his voice calm but unflinching.
"You won't have to worry about how to approach blue dragons," he said, "since there are none willing to bond this Threshing. But you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her."
The funny guy — Ridoc, if she'd caught it right at dinner — muttered, "So you can fucking run."
Laughter rippled through the room.
Aeliana didn't laugh.
Kaori continued without missing a beat.
"She's a Blue Daggertail," he said, gesturing toward the illusion.
"The rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should.
.. definitely find somewhere else to be.
Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law.
She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants.
In fact, if you see any of the blues, don't approach them. Just..."
"Run," the funny guy — Ridoc — drawled, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair.
"Run," Professor Kaori echoed with a faint smile, the mustache above his top lip quivering slightly.
"There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you'll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense.
They're all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all. "
Aeliana didn't write that part down.
She already knew it.
She remembered the way Sgaeyl had looked at her — not with curiosity, not even with hunger.
Just calculation.
And then she'd looked away.
Like Aeliana wasn't worth eating.
Professor Kaori's illusion of Sgaeyl vanished in a flicker of light, the spectral coils collapsing into a wisp of ash that evaporated midair.
"What about the black dragon?" a first-year beside Jack Barlowe asked. "There's one here, right?"
Jack's entire posture shifted, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I want that one."
Of course he does, Aeliana thought.
Kaori flicked his wrist again, and a massive black dragon materialized in the center of the room. Even as an illusion, it felt heavier — denser, more real. The chairs creaked as cadets leaned back instinctively.
Aeliana had to tilt her chin to see all of it — the jagged spines, the club-like tail covered in morningstar spikes.
"Just to appease your curiosity," Kaori said with dry amusement, "since this is the only time you'll ever see him, here is the only other black besides General Melgren's."
"He's huge," someone whispered from the front row. "And is that a clubtail?"
"No," Kaori replied. "A morningstartail. He has the same bludgeoning power of a clubtail, but those spikes will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail."
"Best of both worlds," Jack called out, practically salivating. "He looks like a killing machine."
"He is," Kaori said, tone cool. "And honestly, I haven't seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here..." He turned toward the class. "What can you tell me about black dragons?"
Someone behind Aeliana answered, "They're the smartest and most discerning."
Aeliana spoke up before she could second-guess herself. "They're the rarest. There hasn't been one born in the last... century."
Kaori nodded. "Correct." He rotated the illusion again — the black dragon's eyes locking briefly with hers as if responding to her voice.
"They're also the most cunning. There's no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon.
This one is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged.
He's revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish Rebellion.
Add to it that he's a morningstartail, and he's one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre. "
"I bet he powers one hell of a signet," Jack muttered, practically leaning off the edge of his seat. "How do you approach him?"
"You don't," Kaori replied flatly. "He hasn't agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising, and the only way you'd ever be near him is if you're in the Vale, which you won't be — because you'd be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge."
Across the circle, a redheaded girl subtly pulled her sleeve down to cover a glimpse of ink on her forearm. Aeliana noted the motion but didn't stare.
"Someone should ask him again," Jack said with a shrug.
"It doesn't work that way, Barlowe," Kaori replied, and his tone was curt now. "Now, there is only one other black dragon in active service—"
"General Melgren's," said the older cadet with the close-cropped hair near the edge of the circle — the one who always looked like he'd seen too much for someone that young.
"Codagh, right?" he added, more quietly.
"Yes." Kaori inclined his head. "The eldest of their den. A swordtail."
"But just for curiosity's sake..." Jack leaned forward again, his blue eyes gleaming. "What signet ability would this guy gift his rider?"
Kaori closed his fist — the illusion dissolves into mist.
"There's no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon, and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet."
Jack's brows drew down. "Fine. What was his previous rider's?"
"Naolin's signet was siphoning," Kaori answered, and a strange hush fell over the room. "He could absorb power from various sources — other dragons, other riders — and then use it or redistribute it."
"Badass," Ridoc murmured, his voice tinged with genuine awe this time.
"He was," Kaori agreed, his shoulders softening. "But he died attempting to use that power to revive a fallen rider — which didn't work. Because there's no signet capable of resurrection."
Kaori looked out at them all. Briefly, his gaze brushed over Aeliana.
"He burned out," the professor finished, quieter now. "Died beside the one he couldn't save."
The silence after Kaori's final words about Naolin's death stretched — reverent, heavy.
Even Ridoc didn't joke.
Aeliana stared at the space where the illusion had been. Gone now. But still looming in her mind.
Then a voice broke through from the row behind her — hesitant, male, but clear enough to draw attention.
"Professor..." A boy in the back. "What about the... white dragons?"
Kaori looked up slowly. "Excuse me?"
"I heard a story," the cadet went on, a bit more confident now. "From an old instructor back home. Said there used to be white dragons — rare, almost ghostlike. No one's seen one in centuries, but... I figured, if anyone knew, it'd be you."
Aeliana's pen stilled.
She didn't turn around.
Didn't even breathe.
Kaori studied the cadet for a long moment. Then walked to the edge of the circle and placed both hands on the desk in front of him.
"I'm going to assume you're referring to the Valaari."
A few murmurs passed through the room. Someone whispered "Valaari?" like they'd misheard.
Kaori's voice dropped. "They're more myth than breed at this point. There are only whispers in the oldest texts, and even those are locked deep in the Archives, sealed behind sigils most scribes can't even read anymore."
"They were real, though?" someone else asked.
Kaori's eyes flicked toward the illusion circle. "They were believed to be able to bend light. Disappear into clouds and sky. They didn't just fly unseen — they were silent. Ghosts."
Ridoc let out a low whistle. "Okay, that's terrifying."
"Legend says their bond with their riders deepened under the moon," Kaori continued, "that they shared a form of communication beyond words. A soul bond."
"And they're extinct?" another cadet asked.
"No confirmed sightings in hundreds of years," Kaori said, his voice crisp again. "If they existed at all."
"But the Archives—" the first cadet tried again.
Kaori cut him off gently but firmly. "The Archives are filled with tales meant to scare or inspire. Unless a dragon lands in the Vale, it's a story. Nothing more."
His gaze swept the room one last time.
"Focus on the dragons you can meet. The ones still willing to face war with you."
And with that, he turned right as the bell rang.
~
The sun was already high, the air thick with heat and the tang of iron-rich sweat. Shadows clustered beneath the barracks overhangs, but the yard was bright and unforgiving — no mercy, just like the quadrant.
"Same partners," Vessa called from the center of the field. "Today's focus: hand-to-hand blade flow. One attacks. One defends. Switch every five minutes. No killing blows unless you're confident you can pull them. And if you can't — then you're not ready."
She turned, slate in hand, already moving to supervise another pair.
Aeliana twisted her neck side to side until it cracked, then rolled her shoulders. Her sleeves were already damp at the seams, her wraps snug and solid.
Liam spun his training blade once, grinning. "Guess I'm attacking first."
"You always say that like you expect to win," she replied, deadpan.
"I mean, I usually do."
They circled each other on the worn training mat, feet scuffing the dust that had already turned gold in the heat. She waited for his tell — a twitch in the wrist, a shift in balance — but he didn't give her one.
Then he lunged.
Aeliana blocked — barely — stepping sideways to avoid the full brunt of the strike. But Liam was fast. Faster than she gave him credit for, maybe. His second feint slid under her guard, and before she could redirect, her shoulder hit the mat.
"Oof." She stared up at the sky for a moment. "I hate you."
He offered a hand, smug. "You're too stiff in the hips. You plant too hard when you pivot."
"I'll pivot your face."
"Not if you keep swinging wide like that."
Aeliana scowled, but took his hand.
Once she was upright again, he shifted behind her. "Okay. Try it like this. Wider stance — here." He nudged her foot with his. "Now relax this shoulder. No, really relax it."
"If I relax any more, I'll be asleep."
"I'm serious." He stepped to her side. "When you tense up before a strike, your whole line slows. Like telling your opponent it's coming."
She grumbled under her breath but adjusted. Then tried the strike again — smoother this time. Not perfect, but better.
Liam whistled low. "See? Terrifying."
She shot him a look. "Don't patronize me."
"Wouldn't dare."
They reset. He came at her again — fast, a clean upward slash. She blocked it at the last second and twisted.
Liam slid to the side, pivoting perfectly — except he forgot the loose bit of leather that had come unbuckled from his belt.
His boot snagged, and he went down — hard, flat on his back, again — with a dramatic wheeze like he'd had the wind knocked from him by a ghost.
Aeliana stared for a second. And then — for the first time since arriving at Basgiath — she laughed. Really laughed.
The sound startled even her.
Liam groaned and rolled onto his side. "This is what I get for being helpful."
"You tripped over your own heroic advice."
He flopped onto his back with a hand over his heart. "Tell my dragon I died bravely."
"You don't have a dragon."
He cracked one eye open. "Details."
She offered him her hand, and he took it — still grinning.
Their fingers lingered a beat longer than usual before they reset again.
"You're good at this," she said softly, once they'd caught their breath.
Liam blinked. "Thanks."
"I mean it." She paused. "You're patient. You teach without showing off."
He tilted his head, teasing but not unkind. "And you're less stabby than I expected today. Proud of you."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't make me take it back."
He laughed again — and she joined him.
For a moment, nothing else existed. Not the quadrant, not the constant pressure, not the creeping memory of frost and darkness.
Just sunlight, the quiet ache of used muscles, and Liam's easy, crooked smile.