Chapter 13.
They were just stepping into the hall when a familiar voice called out behind them.
"Liam."
They both turned to see Garrick striding down the corridor, his uniform crisp despite the long day, the Flame Section patch stark against his shoulder.
Liam straightened instinctively. "Sir."
Garrick came to a stop in front of them, his expression unreadable. But something flickered in his eyes—something only Liam seemed to catch.
"You've been reassigned," Garrick said, voice low but firm. "Effective immediately. Flame Section. Second Squad."
Aeliana blinked. "What?"
But Liam didn't look surprised. Not exactly. There was a beat of quiet as he met Garrick's eyes and gave a small nod. "Understood."
Aeliana looked between them. "What's that about?"
"Nothing," Liam said quickly, adjusting the satchel on his shoulder. "Just a shift."
But Garrick held his gaze for a second longer before giving a final nod and turning back down the hallway, disappearing into the stream of cadets moving between stairwells and assignment lists.
Aeliana frowned but didn't press.
They followed the numbers posted just outside the barracks and found the first floor already busy with activity. Cadets were hauling trunks, claiming rooms, greeting their squadmates with either cautious nods or relieved laughter.
When they turned down the correct hallway, Aeliana spotted them almost instantly—two girls standing just outside their rooms, doors propped open behind them.
One had soft brown curls and keen eyes that immediately found Liam. The other stood with her arms crossed, posture sharp but not unfriendly.
"You're our new squadmate, right?" the curly-haired one asked, stepping forward.
Liam smiled. "Apparently."
"I'm Rhiannon," she said, extending a hand. "And that's Violet."
The silver-haired girl gave a small wave from the doorway. "Welcome to the chaos."
Aeliana gave them both a nod, then nudged Liam forward. "This one comes with a lot of sarcasm and a tendency to overthink things."
"Noted," Rhiannon said with a grin.
Liam chuckled and motioned toward the room with his name beside the door. "Guess this is me."
They stepped inside. It wasn't big—none of the rider quarters were—but it was his. Clean walls, a narrow bed, a desk near the window, and a trunk at the foot already waiting to be filled.
Aeliana crossed the space and set his bag down on the desk, careful not to crush the rolled parchment tucked inside.
Liam stood near the bed, staring at the room like it hadn't quite sunk in yet.
"You're doing the look again," she said softly.
"What look?"
"The one where you try to be brave but your eyes give you away."
He turned to her, mouth twitching, but didn't deny it. "It's just... weird, you know? This room, this squad. All of it. It's what I've been fighting for, and now..."
"Now you have it," she said. "And you deserve it."
He hesitated, then crossed the space and pulled her into a hug. It was tight, warm, anchoring.
"If you ever need a space to breathe," he said, voice low, "don't hesitate to knock on my door. I mean it."
Aeliana leaned back, resting her forehead against his shoulder for a second. "Don't worry," she murmured. "I will."
He smiled, but it was tinged with sadness.
She gave his arm one last squeeze before stepping back. "Alright. Time to go join the rest of the dragonless."
"See you in class," he said.
"See you in sparring," she corrected, and walked out before her throat could tighten.
~
The unbonded were already filtering back into the barracks by the time Aeliana returned. It felt different now — quieter, more hollow — but familiar. Her squad's section had always been on the southern end, and she naturally drifted toward the same corner out of habit.
Only... it wasn't just her section anymore.
Dozens of unbonded cadets were filtering in, most of them shell-shocked or pissed off. Some unpacked in silence. Others slumped onto beds without even removing their boots.
Oren stood near the middle of the room, surrounded by a few others she recognized from sparring sessions and battle brief. They were whispering, voices low and clipped, posture tight. Every glance cast toward the room's edges was sharp-edged. Defensive. Angry.
Aeliana didn't approach. She'd seen that kind of storm before. She wasn't about to walk into it.
Then—
The door opened again, and Vessa strode in.
The squad leader looked the same as always: unbothered, unflinching, and already half-annoyed just by breathing the same air as the rest of them. A handful of papers were tucked under her arm, and her long braid was slung over one shoulder like a whip.
"Alright, listen up!" she raised her voice.
The room quieted instantly.
"I see most of you have found your way back here. Good. For those still confused, let me make it clear—you are still cadets of the Riders Quadrant. But until you prove otherwise, you'll be sleeping in these barracks."
Aeliana folded her arms and stayed by the bed she used to call her own.
Vessa continued. "You'll be assigned support rotations. That includes stabling, gear inspections, field maintenance, and any other godsdamned thing we need handled that isn't fighting on dragonback."
There were a few mutters—angry ones. Oren scowled but didn't speak.
"Tonight," Vessa added, voice firm, "you'll receive a basic schedule. If you skip your assigned shifts or act like you're above the rest, you'll be booted. There are no second chances."
Vessa moved down the row with the kind of authority that didn't need to shout to command silence.
Most of the unbonded cadets looked away as she approached — some in shame, some in defiance.
She handed out schedule papers with the efficiency of someone who had done this more times than she cared to count.
When she reached Aeliana's bunk, she didn't speak right away.
Their eyes met.
Vessa's usual mask of indifference faltered for just a second. Beneath it — something softer. Regret, maybe. A trace of the camaraderie they'd once shared when Aeliana had still stood among her squad.
"I'm sorry," Vessa said quietly, offering the folded slip of paper.
Aeliana accepted it without hesitation. "It's not your fault," she said. "I'll just try again next year."
For a beat, Vessa didn't move. Then, her voice dropped into something meant only for Aeliana. "I made sure you got the best schedule," she murmured. "Your mornings are clear. You'll still have time for your runs."
Aeliana's throat tightened, but she gave a small nod. "Thanks."
Vessa held her gaze a second longer, then moved on.
Aeliana unfolded the paper and scanned it—after breakfast kitchen duty, late afternoon sparring room cleaning, occasional weapons maintenance.
It wasn't glamorous. But it wasn't punishment either.
And most importantly, she could still start her days on her own terms, with boots pounding dirt and breath sharp in her lungs.
Her mornings were hers.
And somehow, that meant everything.
Aeliana let out a breath and sat down on the edge of her old bunk.
Around her, cadets grumbled, unpacked, or sat in silence.
She didn't feel ashamed.
Not exactly.
But something hollow settled in her chest as the sky darkened outside and the distant sound of wings faded with the last of the day's dragons.
She hadn't bonded.
But she was still here.
And tomorrow, she'd prove that mattered. One way or another.
~
The night twisted beneath her skin.
Aeliana didn't dream so much as remember.
She was back in that hallway again.
Not the quiet one of Rathmere with soot and hammer-sparks, but the other one — where the air was too still, and the floorboards creaked in warning, not welcome.
It started with a door slamming open.
Then came the hands.
They grabbed her too quickly for her to fight — one clamped over her mouth, another twisting her wrist behind her back until she cried out. Her legs kicked, searching for purchase. She tried to scream. To claw. To breathe.
"You'll break her arm—"
"She's fighting—"
A third voice — cool and unbothered — overrode them all. "It's not good enough."
The hands held her tighter.
"She's trying, but it's not enough."
Aeliana writhed in their grip, every nerve on fire. Her feet left the floor. Her shoulder cracked against the wall. She thrashed with every ounce of strength she had—
"Not good enough."
The words cut deeper than the grip around her ribs.
Like her effort to escape — to live — was a failure of character.
Like surviving wasn't something she'd earned, just a fluke she didn't deserve.
Light exploded behind her eyes. Her lungs burned. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the wood floor—
And she woke up with a silent gasp, bolt upright in the dark.
Her breath came in stuttered bursts. Cold sweat clung to her neck.
The barracks around her were still, thick with sleep and shadows. Bodies shifted beneath blankets. Someone murmured in their dreams.
Aeliana pressed both hands to her face and stayed that way for a long moment.
It was only a dream.
Except it wasn't.
It never had been.
She slipped from her bunk, silent as a shadow, and began to lace her boots.
There'd be no more sleep tonight.
Not after that.
And besides—
She had a run to take.
The air outside was cold enough to sting.
Mist still clung to the grass in the outer field, and the sky wore the first thin blush of dawn. The citadel walls loomed in the distance, silent and gray against the horizon.
Aeliana started at a jog.
Not fast. Not hard. Just steady.
Her breath puffed in soft clouds. Her arms moved in rhythm with her stride. The ache in her chest—the kind that hadn't really left since Threshing—began to ease with every step.
She passed the sparring yards, still empty.
The landing field beyond the dorms, dotted with dew.
Her feet found the familiar path along the edge of the treeline, weaving around scattered rocks and tree roots, the one she used to run before sunrise back when they still had squad drills in the morning.
Back when everything had been harder and simpler at once.
She picked up speed.
The rhythm was something to hold on to. Something that didn't ask anything from her.
Left. Right. Inhale. Exhale.
Her mind wandered, unbidden, to Liam's new room. The quiet way he'd looked at her before she left. The way he hadn't said goodbye — not really. Because they both knew it wasn't goodbye. Not yet.
She thought of Ridoc and Nyra.
Of the way the dragons had looked at her.
And of the black one... still watching.
Not rejecting. Not attacking.
Just... watching.
She ran until the sun broke free from the ridge and turned the trees gold. Until her shirt clung to her skin and her muscles burned in the best kind of way.
Until she could finally breathe without the weight in her lungs.
When she reached the edge of the unbonded barracks again, most of the cadets inside were still asleep.
Aeliana stood in the doorway for a moment, catching her breath, the world behind her silent and full of light.
~
By the time Aeliana made it to the mess hall, the atmosphere was different.
She felt it the second she stepped inside—the shift in energy.
The undercurrent of tension was gone, replaced by something brighter, louder.
Conversations crackled like open flame. Laughter rose in waves from tables where bonded riders now clustered in tight groups, unified by the weight of the dragons they'd survived and claimed.
Aeliana hovered near the entrance for a beat, letting her eyes adjust, her breath hitching in the still-sore space of her chest.
Liam sat at one of the central tables, flanked by Violet on his left and Rhiannon across from him.
Ridoc leaned toward the group, animatedly telling a story to another boy Aeliana didn't recognize—likely one of Liam's new squadmates.
The rest of the table was filled with second-years and fresh riders, shoulders brushing, voices overlapping.
Liam was smiling. Bright and genuine.
He looked happy.
He caught her eye across the room—just for a heartbeat—and the smile softened. He lifted his fingers slightly off the table in a quiet greeting.
She gave a nod in return, nothing more.
Her gaze drifted toward the far side of the room where her old squadmates sat, scattered between conversations with Vessa and the other bonded.
They looked different now. Not just older—recognized.
Seen. The second-years who wouldn't give them the time of day a week ago now leaned in close, nodding along to something Nyra said with rapt attention.
Reece and Thorne flanked her like they always did, but there was a confidence in their posture now, a belonging.
And Vessa—
She stood behind their table, one hand braced on the wood, speaking to someone with her usual calm intensity. But when her eyes lifted and met Aeliana's across the hall, she paused.
They just looked at each other.
No smile. No nod of recognition. Just acknowledgment.
Aeliana finally broke the moment, moving toward the food line.
She loaded her tray with mechanical precision, barely tasting the warmth of the eggs or the steam off the bread roll as she passed through the line. By the time she turned to face the room again, most of the long tables were full—at least, the ones occupied by bonded cadets.
Unbonded riders were clustered near the back. A corner table. Shadowed and tight. Too many chairs pulled too close together, like they were all trying to take up less space.
She made her way there without a word.
The others barely looked up when she sat—just shuffled their trays to make room and returned to their muted conversations or silence.
She ate quickly. Efficiently. Not out of embarrassment, but because she knew what came next.
By the time the noise in the room began to die down, most of the bonded had already begun to rise—shoving back chairs, adjusting harnesses, prepping gear. Dragons waited beyond the outer walls of the dormitory towers. Their first flight lesson was today.
Aeliana stood, dumped her tray, and turned toward the kitchens.
She didn't need to be told. She remembered the schedule Vessa had handed her the night before.
Kitchen detail. Morning rotation. Dish duty.
The back corridor was already warm with heat and the faint scent of soap. As she pushed through the swinging door into the scullery, the clatter of pans and rushing water greeted her like an old friend.
Three other unbonded cadets were already there, standing stiffly at the large trough sink—one scrubbing, one rinsing, the other stacking plates like they were training for formation drills.
Aeliana stepped in beside them.
She didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
She simply grabbed a rag, dipped it into the soapy water, and got to work.
It wasn't glory.
It wasn't bonding.
But it was something solid. Something real.
~
The day passed slowly.
Even without a dragon, Aeliana was still expected to attend most of her classes—at least the ones that didn't require flight or access to a signet. She wasn't sure if it was meant as a mercy or a punishment.
Maybe both.
Strategy and Battle Briefs came first. A long, high-ceilinged room where the bonded riders had already begun filing in by the time she arrived. The seating was arranged in clusters—rows of benches broken into sections clearly intended for squads.
Aeliana hovered near the doorway for a moment, scanning the room.
Most of her old squad was gathered near the center, heads tilted close together as they reviewed their notes from last week's wargames.
Nyra caught her eye briefly and gave a soft smile, but didn't wave her over.
Not because she didn't care—but because the unbonded weren't really meant to mingle anymore. Not in the same way.
Aeliana took a seat near the edge of the back row, where a few of the other unbonded had gathered. No squads. No cohesion. Just loose ends sitting in the margins.
Professor Emetterio strode in with his usual presence of authority, barking out theory questions like it was still week one. She took notes. Answered once. No one looked her way.
Combat Technique followed. A welcome change.
No dragons needed for the basics—just grit, speed, and control.
She was partnered with another unbonded, a stocky girl with bruised knuckles and a no-nonsense glare.
They didn't speak beyond necessary commands, but Aeliana appreciated the silence.
The clean exchange of hits, blocks, counters. It gave her something to focus on.
By Heraldic History, the divide in the room had grown more obvious.
The bonded sat up front. Neat rows. Squad groups. The unbonded clustered again near the back, this time more scattered. Aeliana chose a seat at the very edge, near the tall, arched windows. The chill from the stone wall pressed into her side, but she welcomed it.
She recognized the professor—an old man with wild white hair who spent more time speaking about draconic lore than actual historical records. He didn't glance at the back of the room once. His gaze remained fixed on the front rows where Violet and Liam sat, surrounded by their new squad.
Liam caught her eye again. Just for a breath. A half-smile. But it didn't linger.
Signet Theory was next—only she wasn't allowed to attend that one.
Professor Carr had made that painfully clear the day before.
"Signet development," he'd said sharply, "is for bonded riders only. Those without a dragon will find their presence disruptive."
So instead, Aeliana spent that hour sitting on the stone bench outside the classroom, flipping through her tattered strategy notes. Every now and then, a group of second-years would pass, laughing loudly, ignoring her entirely.
By the time lunch arrived, she was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical effort.
The mess hall had been rearranged again—tables grouped tightly by squad. Names were painted crudely on wooden signs stuck into the ends of the benches, claiming space with a kind of casual finality.
The unbonded had been relegated to the far end of the room again.
She walked in late and stood with her tray for a beat, watching the lines of students, the small, closed-off circles of familiarity.
She spotted Liam again—seated beside Violet, flanked by Ridoc and Rhiannon.
They were laughing about something. The way Violet gestured suggested it was about flight formations.
Aeliana turned away and moved to the far corner, settling down with the other unbonded. No one really spoke. The space was cramped, and the silence was heavy.
She sat at the very edge of the bench, elbows braced on the worn wood, eyes focused somewhere just past the room.
This was her place now.
Outside the squads. Outside the fire and flight.
But still here.
~
The scent of sweat and chalk clung to the walls of the sparring room.
Aeliana stood just inside the archway, a mop slung over one shoulder and a bucket in her hand.
The training floor was deserted now—at least of cadets.
A few scuffed practice swords were strewn haphazardly across the racks, and someone had left a sweaty tunic slumped over a bench like a warning flag.
Blood still darkened one corner of the mat.
Vessa's orders had been clear: Clean everything.
She exhaled slowly and stepped in.
Behind her, Oren sauntered through the doorway, flanked by his two usual shadows—Tynan and Jace, if she remembered correctly. They were whispering something to each other, half-laughing, clearly not taking the afternoon task seriously.
"Told you this would be a joke," Jace muttered, grabbing a half-damp rag and immediately tossing it at the nearest mirror with no real intention of scrubbing.
"Don't see why we're the ones doing this crap," Tynan added, already moving toward the bench to sit instead of clean.
Oren didn't answer. He just picked up a mop—more for show than intent—and leaned on it like it was a cane.
Aeliana didn't comment. She just dipped her mop into the bucket, wrung it out, and began methodically working across the mat. If she waited for them to help, the room would still be filthy by nightfall.
Her arms moved in a steady rhythm. Mop down. Drag. Rinse. Repeat.
Across the room, Oren had managed to clean approximately one square foot of tile and was now examining a scratch on his boot. The other two had started tossing a practice dagger back and forth while making jokes about who they'd trip in flight class—if they ever got one.
She gritted her teeth and focused on the work. One mat at a time.
This wasn't what she'd pictured for herself. Not here. Not after surviving the Parapet, outlasting challenges, enduring every spar and battle brief and strategy course. But it was where she stood now—on the sidelines of a world she was still fighting to re-enter.
And it wasn't just the chores. It was the quiet between the moments. The time she'd once spent training with Garrick.
Those afternoons used to be her lifeline. The one hour of the day she didn't have to perform for anyone except herself—and for Garrick's steady gaze, which never judged her as less.
But now... now he had new responsibilities. A full squad. Section leadership. She couldn't expect him to make space for her when his time belonged to others.
Aeliana's grip on the mop tightened slightly.
"Hey," Oren drawled suddenly, barely glancing at her. "You missed a spot."
She didn't look up. "Thanks for the help."
He smirked. "Someone's gotta supervise."
She forced a breath through her nose, kept her gaze on the floor, and finished the last stretch of matting. She could feel a bead of sweat slip down her temple.
By the time she moved on to wiping down the mirrored wall, her shirt was clinging to her back and her fingers ached from gripping cloth. Oren and his cronies hadn't done more than pretend to clean a corner, but they would no doubt take credit if Vessa ever checked the room.
It wasn't worth fighting them. Not today.
Not when her own thoughts had begun to spiral again.
What would she do with the hours now left empty?
Garrick wouldn't be training her anymore, not regularly. Not now that his official squad was in full swing.
And she hadn't dared approach the Flight instructors to ask about auditing a theory session. Her name wasn't on the lists. She had no dragon. No wing to fly with.
Tuesdays and Thursdays used to be filled with aerial drills and combat refreshers. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays had been her one-on-one sparring time with Garrick. Now... she had dishes. Sweeping. Cleaning up after riders who had everything she didn't.
The thought settled like a stone in her gut.
But still—she hadn't been kicked out.
And as long as she was here, there was a chance.
Aeliana scrubbed the last smear from the mirror, her reflection grim and tired but unbowed.