Chapter 20.
The chill still clung to the air by the time Ridoc returned to his room after flight lessons.
His cheeks burned red from wind and altitude, his braid wind-tangled, and his leathers stiff with cold.
He huffed out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck, watching plumes of steam curl in the air before stepping into his room.
He peeled off the heavy riding gear, swapping it for the simpler black uniform. The blacks didn't cling, didn't creak, didn't stink of adrenaline. Just clean, warm, and utilitarian. It helped. At least on the outside, things looked normal.
But they weren't. Not today.
Liam hadn't spoken since formation. And that was saying something. The man had gone stiff as steel when Oren's name was called—and then vanished the second Violet and Tairn finished that gods-damned memory reveal. Ridoc had seen him sprint toward the Med Wing like his life depended on it.
And now, more than a good hour later, the echo of that sprint still rang in Ridoc's ears.
He hadn't asked questions at the time. But Violet... Violet had explained quietly after Liam had ran. Explained that Aeliana had followed the attackers. Had thrown herself into the fray.
She was in the infirmary now. Recovering. Again.
And Ridoc?
He hadn't moved.
Not until now.
He tugged his cuffs straight, grabbed his satchel, and headed out into the corridor.
The infirmary was quiet by the time he pushed through the doors, morning light bleeding pale orange through the tall windows. A healer gave him a quick glance and a nod, gesturing toward the far right row of cots.
But the bed was empty.
Ridoc's brow furrowed.
Then, just as he turned to look down the row—
The door to the hallway cracked open.
And there she stood.
Aeliana.
Hair slightly mussed, clean shirt tugged down over her bandages, her dark eyes locking on his the second she spotted him.
She froze.
Then: "Cadet Gamlyn."
Ridoc raised an eyebrow. "Aeliana."
She exhaled and stepped further into the room. "What are you doing here?"
"Figured you might need someone to talk to. Liam's still stalking around like a vengeful spirit, and I'm the only one brave enough to interrupt."
She gave a tired smile. "That sounds about right."
"You heading out?" he asked looking at the clean clothing she was wearing.
"Yeah. Figured if I can walk, I should get back to the barracks. Grab some books before the next class."
Ridoc nodded and stepped back to hold the door for her.
They fell into step together in the corridor, the echo of their boots stretching between brief silences.
After a few moments, Ridoc asked, "So. You all right?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded, once. "Alive."
"Barely, from what I heard."
"I've had worse," she said, her voice soft. "Though not often."
They passed a group of third-years heading the other way, their voices low, eyes flicking toward her before looking away.
"Violet said you followed them," Ridoc said.
"Yeah."
"She said you helped."
Aeliana didn't answer right away.
"I heard whispering and footsteps going up to the first floor," she finally said. "I didn't know what they were doing. Just... felt wrong. I followed. Then I heard them yelling about her being awake. I knew it came from Violet's room."
"So you kicked in the door?"
"And fought three cadets."
"Shit."
"Pretty much."
They reached the stairs. She took them slowly, favoring her injured side.
He waited until they were halfway up before glancing at her. "But what were you doing out of bed in the first place?"
Her foot faltered slightly on the step.
Ridoc stopped walking. She stopped beside him.
"I—" She looked away. "I was training."
He blinked. "At night?"
She nodded.
"In the middle of the gods-damned night?"
Aeliana turned and met his eyes fully. "Yes."
He stared. "What, like drills?"
"Fighting maneuvers," she said quietly. "I practice on the Parapet."
Ridoc's jaw unhinged. "The Parapet? Are you insane?"
Her expression didn't change. "I mean, you fly dragons. Which has a resemblance to the Parapet."
"Yes, but we don't stand on our dragons and practice fighting maneuvers. We're sitting. And if we fall, they catch us, hopefully. You fall off that thing, you're—"
"I haven't fallen."
"Yet."
She just shrugged.
Gods.
"Do you have a death wish?" he asked, voice somewhere between awe and exasperation.
"No," she said simply. "But I want to survive."
That shut him up.
For a long minute, they stood there on the stairwell. Then Ridoc shook his head and laughed quietly under his breath.
"Shit, Aeliana. You are the most stubborn person I've ever met."
"I take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
She smiled anyway.
They continued up the stairs in silence, their footsteps slower now. When they reached the main corridor, Ridoc gently nudged her elbow.
"Come on. I'll help you grab your things."
They crossed the yard in companionable quiet, the sun high in the sky. The closer they got to the riders' barracks, the more cadets filtered in and out, some laughing, some limping, some already exhausted.
When they reached the door, Aeliana hesitated for the first time. Not from pain—at least, not that kind—but something quieter. Ridoc recognized it in the way her fingers clenched into a fist, how her shoulders stiffened.
He reached for the handle and pulled it open before she could change her mind.
The moment they stepped inside, the familiar scent of sweat, leather, and old stone hit him like a wave.
The barracks hadn't changed.
Long rows of cots stretched from wall to wall, every one uniform and unforgiving.
Bags tucked under beds. Equipment hung from hooks.
Shadows stretched along the floor in thin columns as sunlight filtered through the high, narrow windows.
Laughter came from the opposite corner. Dice clattered. Someone coughed.
Ridoc's gaze swept the space instinctively.
His eyes found it almost immediately—her space, tucked in the far back corner, a cot half-walled by two old wardrobes and a cracked pillar. Just enough seclusion to feel like privacy. Just enough to be alone.
He remembered what it had been like. Before bonding. Before the dragon. Before promotion. The suffocating closeness of the barracks. The whispers. The pressure. The constant, gnawing reminder that at any moment, someone could snap your neck in your sleep.
He'd slept six rows over those first few months. Had trained, bled, and nearly died in these damn beds. And yet Aeliana still lived here. Still fought to survive here.
He didn't say any of that.
Just followed her in silence as she made her slow way down the row, trailing the line of iron-framed beds until she reached her corner. A few cadets looked up when they passed—one nudged another and whispered something—but Ridoc just shot them a sharp glare, and they quickly looked away.
He waited as Aeliana bent, carefully, and reached under the cot to pull out a small canvas pack and a rolled bundle of parchment. She winced at the motion but didn't complain.
Ridoc hovered near the end of her bed, one hand loosely on the frame. "Place hasn't changed," he muttered.
She looked up, brow raised.
"I used to sleep six rows over," he said with a wry twist of his mouth. "Back when I thought sardine-can living was the only way to make it through first year."
She snorted. "You'd think they'd at least invest in curtains."
"No chance. If you can't sleep with eyes watching, you're not going to make it long out there."
He nodded toward her pack. "You good?"
She adjusted the strap again, this time with her left hand only. "Yeah. Got what I need."
He stepped aside, letting her pass. "Then let's go before someone tries to drag us into a sparring match."
As they walked back up the row, Ridoc shot another glance at her corner of the barracks.
Dark. Cramped. Exposed.
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought clung stubbornly in the back of his mind:
She deserved better.
And after what she'd done the night before, she damn well earned it.
~
The Battle Brief room buzzed with the usual low chatter as Liam sank into a seat near the front, stretching out his legs and trying not to look as tired as he felt. Beside him, Violet scanned her notes from the last lecture.
He wasn't paying attention to the map yet. Not really. His eyes kept drifting toward the doorway, to the space where cadets filtered in—some rushing, others dragging their feet like the weight of the brutal afternoon training ahead was already pressing down on them.
He hadn't seen Aeliana since he'd left the infirmary.
Hadn't stopped thinking about her, either.
Then—he heard it.
A laugh.
Sharp and clear and unmistakably hers.
His head snapped up.
There she was, stepping through the doors with Ridoc at her side, a grin playing on her lips as he said something that clearly amused her. Her cheeks were flushed—not from pain, but from actual laughter—and Liam felt something tighten in his chest.
She was okay.
She was okay.
Not completely—he could tell by the way she held her right arm close, careful not to jostle it. But there was something different in her eyes. Something lighter.
And then Violet gasped beside him.
"Aeliana!"
She shot to her feet and crossed the aisle in seconds.
Liam watched as Violet threw her arms around Aeliana. He saw it—the subtle flinch, the hesitation—but then Aeliana hugged back, murmuring something he couldn't hear.
Violet pulled away, eyes shining, and the rest of their squad was already on their feet.
Sawyer grinned. "Told you she was too stubborn to stay in the med wing."
"Look who decided to stop being dramatic," Imogen teased, though the edge in her voice was softer than usual.
Reece offered a two-fingered salute from his seat behind their squad. "You look like hell, Sorynne."
Aeliana rolled her eyes. "Nice to see you too, Reece."
Aeliana followed Ridoc and Sawyer toward their usual row, doing her best to keep her pace even and unhurried. Her bandaged right arm was tucked beneath the edge of her jacket, the black fabric concealing most of it, though her muscles still ached with each step.
"You think she's gonna drill us on defensive formations again?" Ridoc asked under his breath as they climbed the stairs.
Sawyer groaned. "If I have to hear the words 'flanking maneuver' one more time..."
"Just pretend to be asleep," Aeliana murmured dryly.
They slid into their seats—Aeliana between Ridoc and Sawyer, her eyes catching on Liam already seated across the row beside Violet.
He gave her a brief glance. Just enough for her to know he was still checking on her.
Still worried. Her stomach fluttered, though whether from gratitude or guilt, she couldn't say.
Professor Devera stormed in a breath later, her long crimson jacket flaring behind her like wings, her boots clicking sharply against the floor as she made her way to the center dais.
"Quiet," she snapped, though the room had already fallen into a hush at her arrival. Her voice carried without need for amplification, cutting through the air like steel.
"We're continuing our analysis of the Battle of Braevick Pass," Devera began.
A tactical map flared to life across the wall—mountains, ridgelines, and choke points layered in crimson and gold. Arrows, troop placements. Symbols for dragonfire.
"The objective was simple," she said. "Hold the pass. Prevent the enemy from breaking into Navarrian territory. But as you've seen in the reports, nothing about the engagement was straightforward."
As Devera launched into the battle's background, Aeliana leaned slightly toward Ridoc, her voice low. "Five gold says she blames the loss on poor wing coordination."
"Five?" Ridoc whispered. "That's optimism."
Sawyer leaned over her. "I'll take that bet."
Devera paused. "Cadet Sorynne. Cadet Gamlyn. Cadet Henrick."
Aeliana straightened instantly, pulse kicking in her chest. Shit.
"Yes, Professor?" she said, as casually as she could manage.
Devera's sharp eyes locked onto her. "Since the three of you seem to have more pressing theories than mine, why don't you enlighten the other cadets?"
Sawyer winced beside her. Ridoc sank lower in his seat.
Aeliana cleared her throat, trying to bite back a grimace. "Just an observation about prior tactical analysis, ma'am."
"Oh? Then perhaps you can answer this." Devera turned, and the map zoomed in on a section of the mountain pass—narrow cliffs, a split in elevation, a pinned infantry unit surrounded by enemy fliers.
"You are the tactical officer for Fourth Wing. The ridge to the east is crumbling, visibility is low due to an unexpected storm front, and your communication is down. Your bonded dragon is injured, limiting your aerial options. What do you do?"
Every head turned toward her.
Aeliana hesitated only a second. Then her mind shifted into gear.
"I'd move the lowest-ranked infantry unit forward as a decoy," she began carefully. "Draw enemy fliers into the canyon below the ridge. Then use our remaining wing strength to sweep from above with downward arc fire—less chance of friendly casualties if we limit horizontal spread."
Devera tilted her head. "And the wounded dragon?"
"Shelter them in the second ridge pocket. If it collapses, better to lose the fallback position than risk the bonded pair."
"And what about enemy ground troops approaching from the western slope?"
"I'd order a diversion—have our fastest flier drop glimmer bombs on the ridgeline. Even if it doesn't damage them, the light will scatter their advance and slow the push. Long enough to reposition."
Silence.
"Well reasoned," Devera said. "Though relying on glimmer bombs is risky in a storm. They've been known to backfire."
Aeliana inclined her head. "I'd use them only if the dragonfire risk was higher."
"Noted." Devera turned to face the rest of the class. "Let this be a reminder—those of you whispering may very well be called upon to command one day. You won't always have perfect intel. Sometimes all you'll have is instinct. Use it wisely."
She turned back toward the front, continuing the lecture.
Aeliana sank back into her seat, exhaling slowly. Her fingers trembled faintly where they rested on her thigh.
"Damn," Ridoc murmured, leaning toward her again. "You made that sound easy."
"It wasn't," Aeliana muttered, still recovering from the jolt of adrenaline.
Sawyer elbowed her gently. "I'd follow you into battle."
She glanced between them—two cadets who, not that long ago, barely acknowledged her presence.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"I'll remember that," she said.
And this time, when she glanced toward Liam, she found him already looking her way.
He didn't say a word. Just nodded once.
Quiet acknowledgment.
~
The breeze that swept down from the cliffs was sharp, cutting between the spires like a blade. Aeliana adjusted the wrap on her injured arm and shifted her weight as she descended the ramp from the citadel, careful not to jar the healing wound beneath her sleeve.
The flight field unfolded before her like a living map—rippling with the low sounds of dragons, leather straps, and cadets calling out instructions.
Smoke curled in lazy tendrils from conjured obstacles hovering midair.
On the far end, a group of second-years was practicing dive maneuvers, their dragons slicing through the sky in graceful arcs.
She hesitated at the edge of the path. The memory of watching from the parapet—the feeling of being outside, other—rose up briefly. But then she spotted a head of unruly brown hair gleaming gold in the sunlight.
Ridoc.
He stood beside Rhiannon and Sawyer, his arms crossed as he shouted something irreverent toward a cadet attempting a barrel roll and almost eating air.
Aeliana let herself smile.
Then she spotted Liam.
He was crouched beside his dragon's front talon, checking a buckle, the slope of his shoulders broad and familiar. The same jacket from yesterday hung off his frame, black and worn-in, and her stomach flipped.
She hadn't told him she was coming.
The thought made her pause, just briefly.
But then Ridoc looked up and spotted her. He grinned wide and gave a mock salute like she'd just shown up for inspection.
It broke whatever wall she'd started to build, and she walked forward.
By the time she reached them, Ridoc had already wandered closer, cocky as ever.
"You showed," he said, falling into step beside her.
"You said I might learn something," she replied. "I'm still waiting."
He gasped. "I'm wounded."
"I think that's the point," Rhiannon called from behind them as she adjusted the straps on her jacket. "Less talking, more stretching."
"I already stretched this morning," Ridoc replied, overly smug.
"In your sleep, maybe," Sawyer added dryly, throwing a practice strap over his shoulder.
Liam looked up from his crouch as they neared, his brows lifting when his eyes landed on her.
"Aeliana?"
She nodded. "Ridoc invited me to watch. I figured I'd take him up on it."
Liam stood slowly, his face unreadable for a second—then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Glad you're out."
"Still not cleared for dish duty," she said, gesturing to her arm. "But walking? That I can manage."
"I'll let you carry my boots next time then," he teased, eyes flicking down briefly to check the way she held herself. "How's the arm?"
"Still attached."
"Morbid," Sawyer muttered, but he was smiling.
"She wouldn't be her if she wasn't," Ridoc quipped.
Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "Alright, idiots. We've got maneuvers to run. You," she pointed at Aeliana, "sit there, don't fall over, and no judging our form."
"I make no promises."
They cleared the practice lane a few minutes later, riders mounting in a practiced sequence. Aeliana claimed a spot on a low bench at the edge of the gravel.
From her vantage point, she could see nearly the whole field.
Dragons lifted one after another—first Violet and Tairn, then Rhiannon's sleek Daggertail.
Sawyer followed, a beat slower, muttering something under his breath as he adjusted his grip mid-launch.
Finally, Liam and his bronze Daggertail burst into the sky with an ease that made her breath hitch.
She watched them all sweep into formation, lines tightening and widening like a choreographed storm.
Some of it was messy—Sawyer wobbled on his third bank and Ridoc nearly collided with another rider on a delayed pivot—but there was a rhythm to it.
A language she didn't speak yet, but could almost feel in her bones.
Ridoc's voice echoed from above, laughing as he soared past Sawyer with an obnoxious "Try again, you brick."
Aeliana shook her head, arms folded loosely, the weight of the sun warm on her shoulders.
They made it look easy.
It wasn't, of course. She knew that. Saw it in the way their fingers gripped their dragon's scales, in the careful balance of muscle and instinct it took to turn at just the right second. Still, part of her ached—watching them out there, bonded, belonging.
Maybe someday next year.
Ridoc had been right—watching them fly was a different kind of awe altogether. It wasn't just the dragons—though they were magnificent, wingbeats like thunder—but the fluid grace of the riders, the way their bodies moved as one with the massive creatures beneath them.
She spotted Liam in the middle of the V formation, his back straight, one hand raised as he signaled the next dive. She smiled faintly. Of course, he was leading the turn.
They looked good—ridiculously good—and for the first time, instead of feeling the ache of being unbonded, Aeliana just...watched.
A gust of wind kicked up as a new group arrived overhead—four dragons swooping in formation, all Flame Section. Aeliana shielded her eyes against the sun.
They began their descent.
She recognized Garrick's silhouette immediately on the lead dragon.
Chradh—his brown Scorpiontail—angled his wide, claw-tipped wings with precision, sunlight catching golden in his eyes as he banked into the landing.
The others followed, flaring wings as they touched down one by one, the ground trembling beneath their talons.
Aeliana watched the group dismounted, laughter and chatter rising from the field. Garrick pulled off his goggles, running a hand through windblown hair as he barked a comment at one of his squadmates. She turned back to watching Liam's squad in the sky.
Her eyes tracked one of the smaller dragons diving into a controlled spiral before pulling out cleanly just meters above the ground. That had to be Sawyer. Show-off.
She snorted to herself.
And then—
A shape moved from the corner of her eye.
Something big. Low.
Silent.
She turned slowly.