Chapter 24.
The barracks were quiet. Too quiet for his liking.
Only the occasional shift of a blanket or the low exhale of breath from a nearby bunk broke the stillness, most cadets still tucked under coarse covers, oblivious to the early hour.
Xaden walked through the rows with silent, sure steps, boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. His focus was singular — find her, make sure she was ready, and get her to the flight field before the entire quadrant started whispering again.
He didn't expect her to be awake.
He certainly didn't expect her to be dressed.
But there she was.
Already sitting at the edge of her bunk, lacing up her boots with methodical precision. Her coat was folded neatly beside her, gloves tucked on top. The scarf — the same red one from the night before — hung loose around her neck.
And her hair—
He stopped mid-step.
The strands fell across her shoulder in soft waves, catching the first gray light of morning filtering in through the high window. No trace of the dull auburn remained. It was orange now — bright, fiery, alive.
Something about the color pulled at him.
Not recognition, not exactly.
Just... something.
A whisper from another life. A flicker of memory, gone before it could form.
His brows drew together.
She looked up.
Caught him staring.
Her eyes were sharp. Unimpressed.
Cold.
"What."
Her voice sounded sharper than intended, but she didn't care.
Xaden was still standing there, half-shrouded in early morning shadows, his expression unreadable - as always. His eyes dropped briefly to her boots, as if surprised she was already laced up and ready.
Good. Let him be surprised.
He blinked once. Then straightened. "The Empyrean met last night."
Of course they had.
"I brought the decision to leadership this morning." His voice was all clipped formality now — the commander in him taking over. "You're cleared to join a squad and train with the rest of the bonded cadets."
Aeliana stayed silent. Waiting.
"But," he continued, "you'll be expected to take extra flight lessons in addition to regular drills. You've missed nearly three months of aerial combat conditioning."
She clenched her jaw. That was fair. Still stung.
"It'll be decided after formation which squad you'll be assigned to. The wingleaders are meeting to finalize it half an hour."
Of course. She wasn't even allowed to know yet.
"In the meantime," he said, gaze narrowing slightly, "you're to make a test flight this morning on Virvolior. To ensure you're capable of staying on his back without being flung off in the first sixty seconds."
"Charming," she muttered under her breath.
"Professor Kaori and Captain Fitzgibbons will both be present." His tone made it clear that this was not a negotiation.
She lifted her chin. "So that's why you're here? To make sure I show up for inspection?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at her for a second longer than necessary. Then turned toward the door.
Aeliana rose to her feet and followed, scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, her gloves soft against her palms as she shoved her fingers into them.
Why did it have to be him? she thought, dragging her gaze to the back of his head. Why did they send him to tell me?
Because they didn't trust me to be alone.
Virvolior's voice sliced gently into her thoughts — clear and bright as moonlight over snow.
The Empyrean was... displeased with my entrance.
That's one way to put it, she thought dryly.
So they assigned Tairn and Sgaeyl to keep watch. Make sure I don't do anything stupid. Or emotional.
There was a pause. Then
They've done a fantastic job so far, don't you think?
Her lips twitched, but she didn't smile.
She kept walking.
Each step toward the flight field brought the same sick mix of anticipation and dread — like standing on the edge of a rooftop and knowing it's your turn to jump.
She'd made the leap once before.
Now she just had to survive the landing.
Aeliana's boots crunched lightly in the frost-stiffened grass as she followed several paces behind Xaden, who walked with the same controlled grace he always carried — as if the air bent around him and not the other way around.
She kept her eyes forward, but her thoughts were already shifting away from the stiffness in her limbs and the low hum of anxiety curling in her stomach.
What even are you? she thought, directing the question inward, where the tether between her and the white dragon pulsed faintly — like a heartbeat in the back of her mind.
Because you're not just rare, are you?
You already know that, came the immediate response, or you wouldn't be asking in that tone.
His voice was smooth, tinged with an ancient calm. Older than the mountains. Colder than the wind brushing her cheek.
Then say it.
There was a pause, and then:
I am Valaari.
The name curled through her mind like smoke.
It is not a title we ever gave ourselves, but the one your kind recorded—back when they still bothered to.
They think you're extinct.
Yes, he replied simply. We were nearly erased. By your wars. By your fear.
Aeliana's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't falter.
There are three of us left, he continued. My brother, my sister, and me.
You said you were hunted?
Not hunted. Feared. There's a difference. A pause. The Valaari were bound to the moon's will, to the in-between spaces of this world. We see things others cannot. Speak in ways others will not understand. That kind of power unsettles those who cling to control.
She could feel the weight behind the words, heavy with memory.
We were protectors once, he said. Not soldiers. Not tools. But something older. Closer to the source of what you call Empyrean.
The archives barely even mention you.
Because they were rewritten.
A shiver ran through her — not from the cold.
She looked ahead. Xaden was still walking, hands clasped behind his back, oblivious to the conversation happening just a few feet behind him.
Why now? Why me?
Because I remember you.
The words landed like a stone dropped in still water.
Aeliana's pace faltered. Just slightly. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a heartbeat, the whole world narrowed to that single, echoing sentence.
What do you mean by— she started, but the tether between them quieted, the pulse of Virvolior's presence receding like fog.
The chill of the air returned. The crunch of frost beneath her boots. The wind biting her cheeks. And the sharp, unmistakable voice of Professor Kaori cutting across the field.
"Cadet Sorynne."
Aeliana shook herself, tightening her scarf and making her way across the open field. The frost crunched beneath her boots, the cold biting at her cheeks despite the rising sun. She kept her shoulders straight, spine rigid, every muscle coiled like a drawn bowstring.
Kaori looked up from his clipboard as she stopped before them. His dark eyes assessed her the same way they had on the very first day of lessons — cool, observant, impossible to read.
Captain Fitzgibbons stood at his side, broader, blunter, and dressed like he hadn't felt the cold since he was born. His arms remained crossed, posture rigid. Only his eyes moved — tracking her as she approached.
"We've reviewed your situation," he said in a gravel-deep voice that felt like it had been worn smooth by years of commanding. "And while it is...unusual, it's not unheard of."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"It is not uncommon for a cadet to bond later in the year," he continued. "Especially after casualties. Sometimes the dragons wait. Sometimes they choose not to speak until they're sure."
There was no judgment in his tone. Just fact.
"This morning is not about your timing. It's about your control."
Aeliana swallowed hard.
"We're here to conduct the official first flight test," Fitzgibbons finished. "Since I was told by Wingleader Riorson—" a slight nod toward where Xaden now stood off to the side, "—that such a test was...skipped last night."
That was one word for it.
Kaori cleared his throat and raised his head — and that's when it happened.
The air shifted.
A low wind curled around her ankles.
And then... the first beat of wings.
It wasn't thunderous.
It wasn't loud.
It was quiet — like a whisper rolling over snow.
Virvolior emerged from the clouds like he'd always been part of the sky.
A ghost, born from morning mist and memory.
Brilliant white wings stretched wide as he circled low, each beat of his wings effortlessly graceful. The early light broke against his scales in glints of silver and opal. His eyes — the same luminous shade she remembered from the night before — locked on her instantly.
Kaori's breath caught audibly. She turned slightly, just enough to see his eyes widen behind the thin rims of his glasses, his knuckles tightening on the clipboard.
"By the Mother," he murmured.
Even Captain Fitzgibbons' brows lifted as Virvolior descended, his long tail curling in the air behind him like a silver ribbon.
"He's..." Kaori began, then trailed off.
"You've seen the archives," Xaden said flatly from a few paces away.
"I've studied the archives," Kaori corrected, eyes still fixed on Virvolior. "But I never thought I'd see one in my lifetime. A Valaari."
Fitzgibbons made a low sound in his throat — not disagreement. Just something between surprise and wary respect.
Virvolior landed in a rush of displaced air, wings folding in with elegant precision, his massive head lowering to eye level with her.
He didn't speak.
But she felt him again.
A pulse at the edge of her thoughts. A quiet hum of power settling around her like a cloak.
He had chosen her. No test flight could undo that.
But still — she was expected to fly.
And she would.
Because no one else had ever been bonded to a dragon like this.
And she had no intention of wasting it.
Fitzgibbons cleared his throat, forcing his voice back to steady command.
"Well," he muttered, adjusting his stance. "Whenever you're ready, Cadet."
Aeliana didn't reply.
She turned toward Virvolior instead.
The white dragon lowered his head slightly, his eyes gleaming like starlight caught in snow.
You've done harder things, he said, the thought curling through her mind with quiet confidence. You crossed the Parapet in the rain. You stood alone in the valley. This is nothing but sky.
Her breath hitched, a sudden sting rising in her chest — not fear. Something sharper. Cleaner.
Hold nothing back, he added. Not today.
She nodded once, more to herself than anyone watching.
And ran.
Boots tearing over frost-stiffened grass, she sprinted toward him — the wind catching her scarf, her coat flaring behind her like a banner. She didn't slow, didn't hesitate.
Just jumped.
Her foot found the lowest ridge of his scales like the last obstacle of the Gauntlet, and she climbed — muscle memory and adrenaline taking over, the curve of his shoulder giving just enough purchase for her to swing her leg over and drop into place between his wing joints.
No saddle.
No harness.
No warning.
She barely had time to grip the spines in front of her before Virvolior launched.
The ground vanished beneath them in an instant.
A rush of cold air slammed into her face, tearing at her coat, her hair whipping back as the world dropped away. Her stomach lurched, but her hands stayed tight. Her legs locked in. Her heart roared louder than the wind.
They soared.
Straight into the morning light.
No wobble.
No falter.
No hesitation.
The wind roared past her ears like the rush of a river, but Aeliana couldn't stop smiling.
Not a cautious curve of the mouth, not a faint twitch of amusement. A real smile — wide, wind-bitten, free.
The world stretched out below her, a quilt of silver fields and distant peaks, everything crisp and sharp under the pale winter light.
Virvolior's wings sliced through the cold air with effortless grace, each beat sending a pulse of raw power through her spine.
She could feel the shift of his muscles beneath her, the strength coiled in every movement — ancient, unyielding, alive.
And she wasn't afraid.
Not of falling.
Not of failing.
Not even of being seen.
For the first time in what felt like years, Aeliana felt like she fit — not on the ground, not in a crowd, but here. In the sky. With him.
You're enjoying this, Virvolior said, amusement brushing through her mind like a warm breeze.
Obviously, she shot back, grinning as frost-laced clouds whipped past them. Should I not be?
On the contrary. His tone was velvet-smooth. But I do think it's time for a bit of fun. Hold on.
"Wait—what?"
He twisted.
Hard.
Aeliana gasped as the world inverted, her stomach dropping and a startled laugh tearing from her throat. Her hands gripped tighter around the smooth ridges of his spine as her body leaned into the turn, instinct catching her where thought couldn't.
Her hair whipped forward with the sudden shift, snapping across her face—
And froze.
She blinked, stunned, a curtain of vibrant orange strands blowing wild around her cheeks. Not auburn. Not dyed.
Her hair.
Her real hair.
It caught the sun like flame, vivid and unmistakable, and for a second she could only stare.
I told you, Virvolior said, all smug satisfaction, I like this better.
"What the hell did you do?" she shouted aloud, her voice ripped half away by the wind.
Restored something, he answered smoothly. That's all. A correction. A reminder.
Why? Her thoughts were sharper now, tight with disbelief. Why would you do that?
There was a pause. Not silence, just stillness — the kind that carried weight.
Because, he said at last, you've hidden for long enough. The past shaped you, yes. But it does not define you.
She swallowed hard, heart hammering in her chest.
You were never meant to be forgettable, Aeliana.
The wind howled as Virvolior banked low over the field, circling once before gliding into a smooth descent. His wings flared wide, scattering frost from the grass in swirling patterns as his talons touched down with barely a sound.
Aeliana exhaled — part exhilaration, part nerves — as the ground rushed up to meet them.
She dismounted with surprising ease, her boots hitting the frozen earth in a steady thud. Her legs trembled slightly, but she straightened, chin lifted, shoulders back. She'd just flown. Really flown.
Professor Kaori stood watching her, stunned awe only thinly veiled behind his professional mask.
Captain Fitzgibbons, on the other hand, looked less impressed and more evaluating — though even he couldn't entirely hide the gleam of approval in his eyes.
"You landed well," he said, stepping forward with his hands clasped behind his back. "Better than I expected, given the... unusual circumstances."
Aeliana nodded once, wiping wind-tears from the corners of her eyes with a gloved hand.
The captain's expression didn't soften, but his voice did — just slightly.
"Congratulations, Cadet Sorynne." He inclined his head. "You've officially joined the ranks of the Riders."
The words struck her like a gust of wind to the chest.
Rider.
Not unbonded. Not watched. Not forgotten.
Rider.
She nodded again, unable to speak around the knot forming in her throat.
"Wingleader Riorson will inform you after morning formation which squad you'll be assigned to," the captain added, already turning back toward Kaori. "Until then, rest. You'll need it."
She watched them walk away, her heart still racing, chest still tight.
Behind her, Virvolior let out a low, satisfied huff.
We begin, he said simply.
And this time, Aeliana allowed herself a quiet, secret smile.
~
The barracks were no longer silent when Aeliana pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
Muted chatter drifted through the long, stone-walled space — the shuffle of boots on cold floors, the clatter of trunks, the rustle of uniforms pulled hastily over half-sleeping bodies. Morning had arrived in full, and with it came the start of another day at Basgiath.
But as she entered, a sudden hush fell.
Aeliana paused just past the threshold.
Several cadets had turned to look — not subtly. Eyes widened. Mouths parted. A few of them blinked, as if trying to reconcile the girl who had entered with the one who had slept in the far left corner bunk for months.
She ignored the stares. Tried to, anyway.
It was her hair. She knew that. Bright orange now, vibrant even in the soft morning gray filtering through the narrow windows. Not dyed, not dulled — just her, as she was before.
The scarf around her neck suddenly felt like too much and not enough.
She headed straight for her bunk, jaw set.
"Grab your things."
Xaden's voice had said afther the professor and the captain had left. It was controlled, precise, threaded with command.
"You'll be assigned a new room. You move out after formation."
No greeting. No explanation. Just orders.
She rolled her eyes as she grabbed her coat and began stuffing her things into her pack.
She wasn't going to miss this place. The low bunks. The stolen glances. The heavy silence that always followed her in and out.
She didn't belong here anymore.
She wasn't unbonded.
She was a Rider now.
Aeliana cinched her pack closed and straightened, brushing a few stray strands of her flame-colored hair behind her ear. There were still eyes on her, but she met no one's gaze.
Let them whisper.
Let them wonder.
She slung one of her bags over her shoulder, the other in hand and walked out without a word.
The morning chill slapped her cheeks the moment she stepped outside, but the sky above was streaked with blue and silver, clouds curling in the cold air like breath.
She headed toward the parade field, her boots crunching over frost.
Formation would start soon.
And with it, her official assignment.
Her hands tightened around the strap of her pack.
Please, she thought silently. Just give me a squad that isn't filled with assholes.
One where she could survive. Maybe even belong.
~
The grass crackled beneath her boots as Aeliana stepped onto the field, the morning sky still pale and cold above the slate rooftops of Basgiath.
She adjusted her grip on the strap and kept walking, eyes ahead.
Fourth Wing, Flame Section was already forming up in loose lines, chatter drifting around in half-awake bursts.
Liam stood near the front, rubbing his palms together for warmth.
Ridoc was gesturing animatedly about something to Sawyer, probably retelling some exaggerated flight maneuver from the night before.
But then Ridoc looked up.
And stopped mid-sentence.
"Well, look who's being mov—" His words caught, eyes narrowing as he really looked at her.
The rest of the squad turned, one by one.
Aeliana resisted the urge to shrink under their stares. She kept her chin high.
Ridoc's mouth quirked into a grin. "So I guess it wasn't the moonlight after all, huh?"
Aeliana huffed a laugh, stopping a few paces in front of them. "Virvolior said he liked the original color more. Something about me not being meant to be forgettable."
Liam's brows rose, his head tilting as he gave her a better look. "So... that's your natural color?"
"Yes." She tugged lightly at a strand that had blown into her face. "Still getting used to seeing it again."
Sawyer let out a low whistle. "It looks a bit windswept, too. Everything okay?"
"It better be," Rhiannon added with a grin, "because if you got to go for a ride this morning and didn't invite me, I'm going to be offended."
Aeliana smiled — a real one this time — and shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. "I had my test flight on Virvolior. They wanted to make sure I could actually stay on before throwing me into a squad."
"And?" Liam asked, eyes warm with curiosity.
"It went well." She shrugged modestly. "Didn't fall. Didn't puke. They said I'd find out after formation which squad I'm being assigned to. And I finally get to move out of the barracks."
"Thank the gods," Ridoc muttered. "If I had to watch one more unbonded trip over themselves staring at you in the hallway, I was going to scream."
Aeliana rolled her eyes. "You're dramatic."
"You're glowing," he shot back, smirking. "It's suspicious."
"You're annoying."
"True," he said brightly, clearly unbothered.
She laughed despite herself.
It felt... strange. Good, even. Standing there with them like she belonged. Like she hadn't spent months carrying herself like a shadow.
She glanced toward the front, where the wingleaders were beginning to gather.
Soon.
Soon she'd know where she was meant to go.
And maybe — just maybe — it would be with them.