Chapter 28.
The walls were stone again.
But not smooth like the halls of Basgiath. These were cracked, damp, stained with old blood and soot. The air was thick, clinging to her skin like oil. Somewhere behind her, someone was screaming. She knew that voice. Knew the sound of tendons tearing, bone snapping.
She couldn't move.
Her arms were bound behind her back, chest pressed to the cold floor, something heavy grinding into her spine.
"You're not special," a voice whispered in her ear.
Male. Mocking. Familiar.
Aeliana tried to speak, but nothing came out. No sound, no breath, just the sharp, searing pain blooming through her left arm.
And then—
A flash of white.
Light, blinding and clean, seared across her vision.
The pressure lifted.
The walls cracked.
Wind howled through the space like a scream pulled from the sky itself.
And when she lifted her head, the stone was gone.
The pain was gone.
Only silence remained.
And a pair of golden eyes watched her through the darkness.
She bolted upright, chest heaving.
The room was dark. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, casting silver patterns across the stone floor. The sweat on her skin was cold now, clinging to her like the dream still hadn't let go.
Her breath came in short, shallow bursts.
Right arm—
She clutched at it instinctively, half expecting it to be broken, bloody, useless again. But it wasn't. It was whole. Stronger than it had been in weeks. The bandages were gone. The pain was gone.
Still... the echo of it lingered.
"You're not special."
She gritted her teeth and forced the memory out.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and took a shaky sip. The water was cold. Real. It helped.
You are awake.
The voice slid into her mind like moonlight through mist, cool, steady, grounding. Virvolior.
She closed her eyes, exhaling a long breath.
Bad dream, she thought back, weakly.
I know. I felt it ripple through the bond. Like a storm crashing against still water.
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she pressed her forehead to her knees, drawing them close, arms wrapped tight around her legs. It had been weeks since the last one. Maybe longer. But they always found a way to crawl back in — the memories, the voices, the helplessness.
You are not there anymore, Virvolior murmured, gentler now. And you were never helpless. Not even then.
Her throat tightened. Felt like it.
Survival is not weakness, Aeliana. It is proof of power.
She let the words settle.
Virvolior's presence in her mind wasn't invasive. He didn't press further. He simply remained, a steady pulse of warmth and moonlight at the edges of her thoughts.
Safe.
Constant.
You are not alone anymore, he said.
Aeliana lifted her head and stared at the window, the night sky spilling silver through the glass.
For the first time in a long time, the silence didn't feel like a prison.
She wasn't alone.
Not in her room.
Not in her mind.
And she'd never be alone again.
The hours dragged slow after that.
Aeliana didn't fall back asleep.
She tried — for maybe ten minutes, eyes closed, breaths steady, willing herself to drift. But rest wouldn't come. Not after the way her body had jolted awake. Not with the memory of fire pressing still-too-hot against her skin and the soft echo of I remember you lingering in her mind.
So she lit the small oil lamp on her nightstand and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
The book Jesinia had given her — An Introduction to Lesser Magics — lay waiting at the corner of her desk. She reached for it, brushing a thumb across the worn spine before cracking it open.
Her fingers moved slowly at first, eyes scanning each word with deliberate care. The language was dry, like most textbooks, but the topics pulled her in quickly.
The fundamentals began with manipulation of natural energy, how riders might learn to detect temperature shifts, influence sound waves in the air, or even sense the lingering energy of magic used recently in a space.
It wasn't flashy. Most lesser magics weren't. But they served, often silently, often critically, in war and reconnaissance alike.
Some sections detailed breath control paired with focus to amplify passive detection. Others mentioned environmental responsiveness, shifting the direction of a breeze, dampening footsteps in long grass, or masking heat signatures in shadows. Techniques meant for scouts, spies, and saboteurs.
Aeliana paused at a section on voice anchoring, projecting words with control so they carried over distance without strain, and smirked faintly.
Useful for barking orders from dragonback, the note in the margin read.
She kept reading, fully immersed.
Until the stars outside had shifted behind the trees and the lamp's oil burned low.
Only then did she rise, spine stiff and arms heavy from stillness.
Her body ached, but it was the good kind, the ache of training, of work. Of coming back to herself.
She dressed quickly in soft layers and pulled her boots on, then stepped outside, the morning air biting against her cheeks. The sky hadn't yet brightened, but the world was waking, distant dragon calls echoing over the hills, the murmur of wind shifting through the trees.
She started to run.
Her breath plumed in steady bursts in front of her, boots tapping rhythmic beats against the stone path. The tension in her shoulders began to ease with every step. Muscles sore from training loosened, her lungs stretched with cold air, and her thoughts began to quiet.
This route was familiar. Trusted. Hers.
Her feet carried her through the winding curves of the training grounds, past the edge of the rider barracks and toward the northern cliffs.
By the time Aeliana made it back to the rider's wing, her shirt clung to her back with sweat and her legs thrummed with a faint, familiar ache. The run had helped. More than she expected.
She climbed the stairs two at a time, dropped her outer layers in her room, then quickly changed into her squad's standard training uniform, black-fitted fabric with reinforced padding at the joints. Her flight leathers were still drying from yesterday.
When she stepped back out into the corridor, Varrin was already waiting at the end of the hall.
He didn't say anything. Just turned on his heel the moment she appeared and started walking.
Aeliana followed without a word, pulling her braid tighter as they moved through the lower halls and out into the eastern training yard, the same one from yesterday. The mats were already laid out.
The morning sun hadn't yet warmed the stones.
They began without preamble.
Varrin didn't ask how she slept, didn't comment on her form from the day before. He simply tossed her a training blade and began issuing instructions, sharper, faster, more precise than yesterday. He corrected her grip with a word, adjusted her stance with the barest nod. No praise. No scolding.
Only direction.
And time.
Nearly an hour of footwork drills, stance repetitions, and paired movement patterns, not sparring, exactly, but close. He made her mirror him again and again until her arms burned and her thighs trembled from holding low stances. When her form slipped, he made her start over.
Aeliana didn't complain.
She kept going.
Only when the sun climbed higher and the courtyard buzzed faintly with the sound of others heading to lunch did Varrin step back and nod.
"Better," he said. "Not acceptable yet. But better."
She exhaled through her nose, chest heaving slightly. "Yes, sir."
"You'll continue this schedule daily. Mornings until your strength is back."
Her spine straightened despite the weight in her limbs. "Understood."
Varrin nodded once and walked off without another word.
~
The mess hall was crowded and loud when Aeliana stepped inside, the heavy scent of roasted meat and starches hitting her like a wall. Her shirt was damp with sweat again, her hair clinging slightly to her forehead. She hadn't had time to shower.
Not that it mattered.
She got in line behind a pair of second-years chatting quietly about a griffin attack along the eastern border.
Then-
"Looks like someone's been busy."
The voice came from her left.
She turned — and found Garrick standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, eyes sweeping her from head to toe.
His gaze lingered just a fraction too long on her shirt before meeting her eyes again, one brow raised.
Aeliana lifted her chin, expression neutral. "Squad training."
"Figured." He tilted his head. "Varrin have you running drills?"
"Something like that," she said, stepping forward with the line.
Garrick moved with her, keeping pace. "You look like you've been through the wringer."
"Only the beginning," she muttered, grabbing a tray from the stack.
He smirked slightly, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually, that's why I'm here."
Aeliana glanced sideways.
"I've got to cancel our session this afternoon," he said, tone apologetic but firm. "Flame Section's moving up their flight assessments, and I've been pulled to help evaluate."
"Oh," she said, trying not to sound... disappointed. "That's fine."
"You're doing fine on your own," he added, giving her a short nod. "Just keep at it. And don't skip those exercises Elira gave you."
"I won't."
Garrick's eyes lingered another moment, unreadable. Then he stepped back. "See you later, Cadet."
"Later," she echoed, and watched him melt into the crowd.
~
The sky was just beginning to lighten when Aeliana walked into the lecture hall, the early morning chill still clinging to her uniform. The rest of Third Squad was already seated — a neat cluster in the third row, their notebooks open, posture straight, expressions composed.
No one had saved her a seat.
She hesitated only for a second before sliding into a row just above them. Not too close, not too far. The gap between them felt intentional — a buffer zone of unspoken judgment.
"Welcome to Tactical Theory," Professor Orell called from the front, his long coat billowing as he moved across the dais. "Today, we discuss decision-making under pressure."
Aeliana straightened in her seat, pen at the ready. She'd caught pieces of this lecture in the past, mostly when listening in from the unbonded side of the barracks, but never like this. Never as a rider.
She cast a quick glance toward her squad.
Varrin sat at the end of the row, already halfway through transcribing the board. Noira and Daerid flanked him on either side, nodding along with the professor's every word. Tavira and Kellen were whispering, fast and low, probably comparing notes. Not once did any of them look behind them.
Aeliana tried not to let it bother her. She focused on the lesson.
Orell described a scenario involving a delayed dragon return during a nighttime patrol. "Who do you send to investigate? What happens if your flanking riders are already wounded?" His chalk scraped across the board. "Third Squad, what's your call?"
Noira answered without hesitation. "Send the most experienced flier with backup from the lowest-value bond."
Aeliana blinked.
Lowest... value?
Orell didn't correct the terminology.
The conversation moved on without her.
~
The training hall was wide and full of light, the glass roof casting sunbeams across the wide diagrams projected along the walls. Professor Carrin walked along the edge of the room, conjuring a floating model of a dragon's wing muscles mid-hover.
Aeliana filed in behind her squad again, this time managing to sit at the far end of the same bench.
Noira's eyes flicked her way once. She said nothing.
Carrin's voice rang out over the room. "Today's focus: high-pressure circulatory control during steep dives. This is where riders need to understand their own limits just as much as their dragons'."
As Carrin waved her hand, a new illusion flared to life — a translucent red overlay of blood vessels, nerves, and dragon anatomy mid-flight.
Aeliana took fast, scribbled notes, trying to keep up.
But a hand went up halfway through the lecture.
"Professor," Etan asked smoothly, "can you explain how wing rotation differs between Daggertails and Scorpiontails at that elevation?"
Carrin nodded approvingly. "A good question. Especially for squads with mixed breed types."
Aeliana looked up sharply.
Was that directed at her?
She didn't even know what Virvolior's rotation pattern looked like. Not really. Not yet.
The reminder sank like a stone in her chest.
As the professor continued explaining, Aeliana felt the faint flicker of awareness at the back of her mind.
You'll learn, Virvolior said softly, not unkindly. You're not behind. You're just taking a different path.
She exhaled quietly.
She wasn't alone. Not really.
~
The sparring gym buzzed with energy as cadets filled the perimeter of the mats, voices rising and falling like waves. The last day of challenges always drew a crowd — riders looking to prove themselves, to move up the internal rankings before the next set of evaluations.
Aeliana stood near the edge of the mats, adjusting the wraps around her hands. The slight stiffness in her right forearm was a reminder, not pain, exactly, but presence. A healed wound that still whispered its history with every flex of muscle.
She rolled her shoulders and exhaled slowly.
She was ready.
"You're sure about this?" Professor Emetterio asked from beside her, his gaze sharp beneath his thick brows.
Aeliana nodded once. "I was cleared. I wouldn't step onto the mat if I wasn't."
The professor looked at her a beat longer, then jerked his chin toward the center. "Then let's see what you've got."
She stepped forward as the previous pair finished, one cadet limping slightly, the other flushed with victory. Aeliana scanned the room briefly.
There.
Varrin stood with his arms crossed near the back corner, flanked by Noira and Daerid. His golden Claw Section insignia gleamed on his jacket, and his expression — as always — was unreadable.
But he was watching.
Not far from him, on the opposite side of the gym, Liam leaned against a column with his arms draped casually over his chest, Ridoc beside him, tossing a water flask between his hands. Sawyer gave her a subtle nod when their eyes met.
They were watching too.
No pressure, she told herself dryly.
Her opponent stepped forward — a second-year she didn't know well, taller than her by half a head and already cracking his knuckles with a cocky sort of rhythm.
The bell rang.
He came at her fast.
Aeliana ducked the first swing and sidestepped the second, pivoting on the ball of her foot. Her reactions were solid — trained — but the force of each block sent a flare of discomfort through her still-recovering arm.
She couldn't rely on strength alone.
She'd have to be smarter.
Her opponent swept low, aiming for her legs, but she jumped and twisted, landing in a crouch before darting back to create space.
Voices echoed around the room — not cheering yet, just commentary and the occasional call-out. She heard Ridoc's low "Nice footwork," and Liam's quiet "Don't let him drive the tempo," from somewhere behind her.
She didn't look.
Didn't need to.
She felt Varrin's gaze — sharp and measuring like a blade tracing her every move.
The second-year came in again, driving her back with a flurry of jabs, one of which caught her shoulder hard enough to knock her a step off balance. The crowd hissed softly.
Aeliana gritted her teeth, planted her back foot, and snapped a jab at his ribs.
Connect.
He stumbled. Not much — but enough.
She pressed the advantage.
Left. Right. Duck. Elbow. Her breath came faster, her lungs pulling in the sharp tang of oil and sweat and effort. Her arm ached, a deep pull down the forearm, but she ignored it.
Not today.
Not when half the gym thought she didn't belong.
Not when her squad leader still hadn't said a word to her outside of orders.
Not when she'd spent months in the shadows.
She locked his wrist during his next swing, twisted sharply, and drove her weight forward.
He went down with a thud that echoed off the stone walls.
Silence.
Then the bell rang.
And the gym exploded into sound.
Emetterio called the win, voice even but edged with something like satisfaction. "Aeliana Sorynne, victory."
She stepped back, chest rising and falling, sweat dripping from her brow, heart hammering in her chest.
She didn't look at her opponent as he was helped up — she just turned away, breathing deep and slow, her arms trembling with exertion.
Liam was already moving toward her. "Holy shit, Sorynne," he said under his breath, grinning like a madman. "That was beautiful."
"I'd give it an eight out of ten," Ridoc added with a wink. "Would've been a nine if you'd taken his ego with him."
Sawyer offered her a water bottle. "That last throw was brutal."
Aeliana gave them a tired smile, wiped the back of her wrist across her face, and murmured, "Thanks."
But the moment fractured as Varrin stepped forward from the shadowed corner of the gym.
His movements were brisk, controlled — the calculated pace of a man who never wasted time or breath. The golden insignia of Claw Section gleamed on his shoulder as he crossed the mat, stopping directly in front of her.
Aeliana straightened instinctively.
He didn't raise his voice, but his words cut like steel.
"That was not how this squad fights."
The hum of the gym faded around her. Heat surged beneath her skin, not from exertion — but from the weight of the reprimand.
She opened her mouth, unsure what to say, but Varrin continued.
"You abandoned the formations I drilled into you yesterday. Your stance collapsed the moment you shifted for a solo strike. You went for a flashy win instead of the efficient takedown I taught you."
Her jaw tensed.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly.
His eyes were sharp and unreadable as they met hers. "Victory means nothing if it comes at the expense of your squadmate's safety. You fight with your squad. Not like a lone dagger swinging wide."
Aeliana swallowed hard, the ache in her arm suddenly more noticeable than ever. "Understood."
Varrin didn't nod. He simply took a half step back, his expression unchanged.
"You'll run drills again tomorrow. This time, correctly."
Then he turned and walked away.
Liam appeared at her side a heartbeat later, face half-twisted in disbelief. "Did he seriously just lecture you after that fight?"
"Apparently," Aeliana muttered, dragging the back of her hand across her forehead.
"He's lucky you didn't throw him across the mat next," Ridoc added, scoffing under his breath.
Sawyer didn't say anything — just watched her for a moment, then passed her a clean towel.
Aeliana took it gratefully and sat down on the edge of the mat, forcing herself to breathe slow and deep.
She'd won.
But not the right way.
Not Varrin's way.
Aeliana sat on the edge of the mat, towel pressed to the back of her neck as her squad dispersed, drifting away like shadows after a storm. Varrin didn't glance back.
Her arm throbbed with every heartbeat. Her knuckles were scraped. Sweat still clung to her skin.
But more than anything, it was the weight in her chest that made her feel heavy the reminder that even now, even after clawing her way through every obstacle, it still wasn't enough.
Not enough. Not right. Not his way.
He must be fun at parties, Virvolior muttered dryly in her mind, his tone sharper than usual.
Aeliana blinked, caught off guard.
Honestly, the dragon continued, he watches you like a hawk waiting for weakness instead of a commander shaping strength. You fight like you mean it he acts like that's a liability.
"I didn't mean to ignore what he taught me," she whispered under her breath, wiping her jaw with the towel. "It just... happened."
Of course it did. That's how instinct works. No wonder he matched with his dragon, just as rigid as he is. Prefering rules over reality.
That pulled a faint, involuntary snort from her. She glanced up — no one noticed.
I've seen enough riders in my time, Virvolior went on, quieter now. Some fight to survive. Some fight for power. He fights to control. And he expects everyone around him to do the same.
"He's still my squadleader," she reminded him, though the words felt thinner now. Less certain.
For now. That doesn't mean he understands you. Or deserves to.
She stared down at her scraped knuckles, the bruises already blooming beneath the skin.
You don't have to bend yourself into his mold, little ember. He can teach you things. But I can promise you this — the fire in you wasn't meant to burn by someone else's design.
Aeliana exhaled slowly.
The weight in her chest didn't vanish, not completely. But it shifted — just enough.
She didn't need to be the perfect soldier today. She didn't even need Varrin to understand her.
She just needed to keep going.
~
The wind rolled off the cliffs in brisk, biting waves as Aeliana climbed the winding path toward the auxiliary flight ridge.
The midday sun shone high above the Veil, casting long shadows through the pines as she emerged into the clearing.
Virvolior was already there, crouched near the edge, his white wings half-furled and catching the sunlight like fractured glass.
You're late again, he rumbled in her mind — not angry, just amused.
We're early, she countered. You got here before I did.
Which makes you late.
She snorted under her breath.
Professor Kaori stood on the far side of the field, his arms folded, leathers well-worn from years of use, his stance just as sharp and crisp as always. He gave her a single glance as she crossed toward him — no greeting, just a subtle nod of acknowledgement.
"Cadet," he said, voice level. "Mount up."
Aeliana tightened the buckles of her harness and approached Virvolior's side.
With one practiced leap and a mental cue, his foreleg lifted slightly, helping her climb into the saddle between his shoulder ridges.
She adjusted the thigh straps, settled her feet, and locked in her harness with a metallic click.
"Today," Kaori called, already moving toward the edge, "you'll practice controlled climbs, shallow dives, and hover holds. No formation work until your squad leader clears it — but I want you responding to motion, force, and wind pressure like it's second nature."
"Understood."
Virvolior launched without warning.
Her stomach dropped as the ground vanished beneath them, wind screaming past her ears as they rocketed into the sky. The familiar surge of pressure pressed her into the saddle, and she braced instinctively, fingers gripping the saddle hooks and muscles tightening through her core.
Remember what I told you, Virvolior said, his voice calm amidst the wind. Don't fight me when I bank. Feel the wind. Follow it.
They curved into a wide arc above the ridge, then leveled out into a slow glide. Aeliana adjusted her weight slightly, not to guide him, but to steady herself — moving with the tilt of his wings instead of against it.
She wasn't controlling him. She was adapting to him.
Below, Kaori shaded his eyes with a hand, tracking their movements.
Dive incoming, Virvolior warned.
Aeliana inhaled sharply as he folded his wings slightly and tilted forward, the air rushing faster, sharper, colder.
She gritted her teeth and pressed into the saddle, legs clenching, hands locking in.
The pull was incredible — not painful, but intense enough to make her ribs ache.
When he pulled out of the dive, she could barely hear herself breathe over the roar in her ears.
Sloppy, Virvolior said. You braced too early. Wasted strength. Let the descent carry you longer next time before you resist.
"Again," Kaori's voice called from below. "This time, a spiral descent — keep your core engaged."
Virvolior responded instantly, tilting one wing downward and spinning into a slow spiral. Aeliana shifted with him, remembering to keep her body aligned — not stiff, not passive, but responsive. Every movement of his wings was a signal. Every tilt, a test.
They repeated the maneuver three times, and by the fourth, her arms trembled from holding tension, her legs burned from constant bracing, and sweat soaked through her shirt beneath the leathers.
By the time Virvolior pulled into a hover high above the ridge, Aeliana's entire body screamed.
But she didn't ask to stop.
You're stubborn, he noted, voice warm with approval. That will serve you well. But take care not to break yourself proving it.
They hovered for a few seconds longer, wings beating slowly, then descended in a graceful, gliding arc to land near Kaori once more.
Dust kicked up around them as Virvolior touched down, his talons scoring the stone with audible precision. Aeliana unhooked her harness and slid to the ground with a grunt, limbs shaky but steady enough.
Kaori studied her for a long moment, then nodded once.
"You're adapting," he said, though his tone carried more scrutiny than praise.
"Thank you," she murmured, breath still catching in her throat.
Kaori crossed his arms, turning slightly toward Virvolior — though not directly. "You're aware of what he is, right?"
"Yes. I remember what you told us in class."
The corner of Kaori's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Most cadets forget that lesson before the hour's out."
"I didn't."
"Good."
He turned slightly toward Virvolior again, respectful but careful. "A bonded Valaari... I never thought I'd see one. And certainly not here."
He's observant, your professor, Virvolior said privately. But his dragon is too small for his pride.
Aeliana smothered a snort, pretending it was a cough.
Kaori didn't notice.
"I want you to continue practicing what we did today," he said. "Hover holds, shallow spirals, diving pulls. Learn your dragon's movement pattern — and learn how to move with it."
She nodded.
"I'll see you again in three days. Same time."
Kaori turned on his heel and strode down the hill, disappearing into the trees with his usual quiet authority.
Aeliana exhaled slowly and looked up at Virvolior, who was still watching the sky.
"You really don't like him, huh?"
He likes to measure power by posture. He wouldn't last a second flying with me.
"You didn't seem bothered during the lesson."
I'm a dragon, not a child. I have patience.
Aeliana chuckled softly, stretching her aching arms. "Come on. Let's get some water before I collapse."
Virvolior huffed in amusement and lowered his wing for her to climb up.
~
The training room was nearly empty, the torches along the walls casting long shadows across the mats and racks of training weapons.
Aeliana sat on a bench near the back wall, her jacket shrugged off and folded beside her.
She braced her feet against the floor, breath steadying as she gripped the weighted rod Elira had instructed her to use.
One. Two. Three.
She counted the slow, deliberate movements under her breath, rotating the rod in her right hand, feeling the familiar strain travel up through her wrist and into her forearm.
Garrick wasn't there with her, and for some odd reason, she missed his presence.
It wasn't all bad. She didn't mind the quiet. In fact, after the draining sparring match and Varrin's sharp words about discipline, it was a relief to be on her own for a while. No squad watching. No drills or battle formations. Just the slow rebuilding of the strength she'd lost.
Four. Five. Six.
The ache set in fast, a burning pull through the recovering muscle that made her eyes water — but she didn't stop. She focused on the rhythm, on the breath, on the promise she'd made to herself that she wouldn't fall behind again. Not after coming this far. Not now that she had Virvolior.
The floor creaked somewhere near the entrance, but she didn't look up. Whoever it was, they didn't come closer. Just passed by, the faint sound of boots fading into the corridor.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Aeliana adjusted her grip, switched to a resistance band, and began the next set. Pulls, curls, holds — slow, relentless repetitions that would help rebuild her grip strength, her control. That would help her hold a blade without hesitation again.
The silence wrapped around her like a second skin, interrupted only by the rasp of her breathing and the distant sound of dragons in the night sky above.
And when she finally sank back against the wall, arm trembling and shirt damp with sweat, she let her head tip back and allowed herself to breathe.
She was getting stronger.
Not just because of Virvolior. Not because of a squad. Because she refused to give up.
And that, she reminded herself, was worth every burn in her muscles. Every ache in her bones.
Tomorrow, she'd keep going.
But for now... she allowed herself a small, tired smile in the quiet.