27. Names In Stone
A eden had tried reaching out to Nyra multiple times through the course of the evening, but he had been met with nothing but a darkened void – no essence, no core for him to speak to her.
He wanted so badly to hear her voice, and he was unsure whether this was so that he could reassure her, or himself.
He knew she was in safe hands with Lyric, but it already felt uncomfortable not being able to sense her thoughts or feelings while she slept.
Aeden was learning fast to ignore all of the eyes that were burning into him.
When Vivienne, Serene, and Harrison asked if he wanted to sit with them in the dinner hall that evening, Aeden politely declined, wanting to be on his own.
He also didn’t want them associated with him if it was going to affect their experience at the academy – especially after what had happened to them during the sparring session.
Master Storme had made it clear that what had happened was punishment for Aeden stepping out of line and for them supporting him.
The best way he could protect them was to keep them at arm’s length as best he could. That was the plan until they were bonded with their own Aer-Kin. Something told him they would be less vulnerable then. For now, he tried to ignore the hurt in their eyes when he chose to sit alone.
After leaving Cassian and Rowan, Aeden had filed the necessary paperwork to request a transfer from his bunkhouse.
Hopefully that would make things less awkward.
It wouldn’t take them long to figure out what he was doing, and he didn’t want to get closer to them, as that would only serve to put them all in more danger than they already were just by being at the academy.
Now he found himself heading to the last place he wanted to be. But after Master Storme had let slip that he knew his parents, Aeden knew he needed to come here.
Aeden made his way to the northeastern side of the academy grounds. It was quiet, with only the moon above offering any light as the grass around him reflected its sliver light.
The Memorial Garden.
There was an eerie feel in the air, the air sitting still with barely a breeze. The Memorial Garden summed up the academy perfectly; it wasn’t a place for quiet reflection, it was a monument for those who had fallen in battle, but only for those who had graduated at the academy.
It was uniformed and precise in its set-up, with row upon row of smaller pillars lining all the way down to the bottom of the garden – far too many for Aeden to count. There must have been thousands of pillars buried into the ground, indicating fallen riders .
Aeden’s legs felt like they were made of lead as he started the walk down the first line of pillars.
He stopped at the first pillar. It stood at around eight feet tall, the same as all the others.
It was square in shape, carved into a triangle at the top.
Each side of the pillar hosted a series of metal plaques with names engraved into them.
One rectangular plaque sat at the top, displaying the name of the battle or location etched into it.
This one read ‘ Battle of Novura, 089TV’ . That was easy enough to navigate; it told Aeden he would have to walk to the far side of the Memorial Garden to find what he was looking for: his parents’ graves.
Well, as close to graves as they could get.
They died in battle – or so he had been told his whole life.
With no bodies recovered, it meant all he had to go off was the memorial.
He hadn’t been here since the day they etched his parents’ names onto the plaques, alongside all the other Support riders that died that day.
It was the reason why their numbers were so much lower than all the other classes.
They had been nearly wiped out in a single battle.
Aeden was present when their names were added to the memorial ceremony, but he was too young to remember it clearly, although the sight of the pillars felt strangely familiar to him.
He was a child when he was last here, supported by his grandparents who had brought him up ever since.
He continued to walk between the pillars, taking his time, part from hesitance, part from respect. He wanted to read the names of the riders that had passed in battle since Aviara Academy was formed – the first aviation school established in Nevaria .
After all, if not for their sacrifices, he wouldn’t get to live the life that he did, just like all the other students at the academy.
Just like they were all told. This was Aeden’s chance to pay his respects to each and every rider who had made the ultimate sacrifice, just as he was meant to do someday.
It was seen as a great honour to die in battle.
Aeden, however, thought differently. How he viewed the world had changed the day that his mother and father died, and he found himself ruminating on this as he continued to pass by more and more pillars.
The more he walked, the more desensitised he got, which was why he had an issue with the Memorial Garden.
Nevaria had been at war with Ostrafar since long before Aeden was born.
That was the very reason the academy existed, the very reason Aeden himself existed.
His parents’ marriage, their bloodline that extended through him, their ability to bond with Aer-Kin continuing so the next line of Aer-Kin riders could be forged.
This was how the academy worked, creating a lineage of riders through the academy for now and for the future.
Aeden wondered what they would think of Nyra, of him, of what they died for. Was their sacrifice worth it?
In the end, each rider became nothing more than a stone totem, a reminder of just how many souls had been lost, which led to the biggest question of all.
What exactly were they fighting for?
When Aeden reached a plaque that read ‘Battle of Gora, 576TV’, he knew he was close.
His pace slowed as he began to examine each pillar in even more detail, the dates inscribed rising with every group of pillars that he passed, getting closer to the current year.
The names inscribed into the plaques were in alphabetical order, which would make life easier when he got to the pillar that he wanted.
When Aeden read the plaque that said ‘ Battle of Weir, 585TV’ , his heartbeat surged. He hesitated, knowing that he was drawing close. This was it. This was the battle where his parents had fallen – or so he had been told.
Eventually he reached the names that began with the letter H. His heart thundered as his eyes scanned each plaque until he found what he was searching for.
In the centre of the pillar sat their names.
Nyra Harrington, 585TV .
Piotr Harrington, 585TV .
No sooner did he see their names than the sensation of fifteen years’ frustration came spilling out of him all at once, like he was a bucket filled with holes.
His childhood, growing up as an orphan, the trials he had faced in adolescence, the trouble he had gotten himself into, and finally, the academy.
Oh how he hated the academy. He hated everything they stood for, everything they took, and everything they did to their students.
Before Aeden even had a chance to process, he was sobbing.
Tears wetted his cheeks. He missed them desperately, even though he couldn’t remember them clearly.
What he would give to have just one conversation with them, for them to be able to hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.
He sobbed and sobbed as every lost moment that they should have had came to the forefront of Aeden’s mind.
He didn’t care. He could cry as loud as he wanted.
He could grieve here, and no one was around to witness it, to see his weakness.
All the suppressed rage and anguish flowed through him as he screamed out loud until his voice grew hoarse.
Dropping to his knees, Aeden rested his hands on the pillar.
Raising his head, he stared at his parents’ plaques, his mother’s sitting above his fathers, surrounded by a sea of names that meant nothing to him.
That was the problem. Other than to Aeden, these were just two names on a plaque.
No one else knew them, knew their story.
They were not consigned to the history books.
Their story meant nothing to the world, but it meant everything to Aeden.
“I made it in,” he said aloud. If anyone was walking past, they would have thought a madness had taken Aeden, but to him, in this moment, it felt as though he could speak to them for the first time in his life.
“Grandpa wasn’t happy. He wanted me to walk down a more academic path, but that isn’t me.
” Aeden took a second to compose himself, taking a deep breath.
“So much has happened that I want to tell you about.” He looked at his mother’s plaque.
“I bonded with my very own Aer-Kin. She is called Nyra, after you. Things are complicated with how that happened. I know the academy isn’t going to make life easy for us.
Her wings are damaged. Lyric tells me they are damaged beyond repair, but I promise I will find a way.
Everyone is saying she’ll never fly, and I am going to show them, going to prove them all wrong.
Then they will see. Because like Grandpa always tells me, Harringtons never quit.
We keep going, no matter what. I’m going to train harder than everyone else.
I’m going to show them just how powerful we can become, regardless of what they say, regardless of what they think we can do. ”
Aeden stood up straight and smartened his jacket. His body ached from the training, but his ribs swelled from his outpouring of grief. He had never felt anything like it, suppressed and contained all these years to be suddenly unleashed like a wildfire.
“That wasn’t the plan,” he said, composing himself as best he could, although his words were still stifled. “Finding Nyra’s egg, her hatching and then bonding with me. That was never in the plan.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter that was tucked inside. He looked over the creased envelope before turning it over to where the seal had been broken. Inside it was a note, which Aeden pulled out and stared at before raising it into the air.
“This is the whole reason why I enrolled, the whole reason why I’m at this academy. I didn’t want to be here, but now I have to be . . . because of this fucking note!” He opened the note in front of him before speaking the words aloud.
“Truth dies in daylight, but fire reveals all.
Your parents’ fate was not forged in battle, but in betrayal.
Go to the place where Aer-Kin rise – only there will you find the ash-covered truth.
Trust no one with a sigil.
The storm is waking, and your blood is not what you believe.”
He crumpled the note up in his hand. “What does this even mean?” he said.
“I came to the academy. This is where Aer-Kin rise. But this note . . .” He looked up at his scrunched-up hand.
“This note means I cannot rest until I know what really happened to you. I believe everything the academy has told us what happened to you is a lie.”
He lowered his hand to his side, but it still formed a fist. “And I swear I will make them pay for taking you away from me.”