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"Welcome to your first Battle Brief." Professor Devera stands at the front of the lecture hall. She has a bright purple Flame Section patch sewn onto her shoulder that matches her short hair exactly. I take a moment to observe the hall—it's a circular, tiered room curving the end of the academic hall. It's one of the only rooms capable of fitting every cadet, although every seat is filled and third years line the walls.

I sit in a row with all of the other first years in Second Squad. I'm seated with Ridoc to my left and Rhiannon to my right, with Violet on the other side of the dark skinned girl. I can't recall the names of the other first years, other than Sawyer, who sits further down the row. Maize is fiddling with her quill on the other side of Ridoc. She's ignored me since the parapet, and I can't say I'm upset about it.

"In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation and if they were, they were always third years who'd spent time shadowing forward wings. But we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we're up against," Devera says as she walks slowly back and forth in front of a massive map of the continent mounted on the back wall.

"You need to understand the politics of our enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot grasp these basic topics, then you have no business on the back of a dragon." The professor arches a brow and the cadets, and I write down a few notes in my messy slanted scrawl. 

Politics of enemies. Strategies defending outposts. Knowledge relating to current and past battles.

"This is the only class you will have every day," Professor Devera continues, "because it's the only class that will matter if you get called into service early. Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves nothing but your utmost respect." Professor Markham steps forward, and leans closer to the rider when she whispers something in his ear.

The scribe's gaze flies towards my row, settling on Violet just two seats to my right. He sighs quietly before directing his gaze to the whole class. "It is the duty of the scribes not only to study and master the past but to relay and record the present," the Professor says. "Without accurate depictions of our front lines, reliable information with which to make strategic decisions, and–most importantly–veracious details to document our history for the good of future generations , we're doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society."

Maybe he's right, but could he at least say it in a way that doesn't make my brain hurt? I rest my head on the palm of my hand, already bored.

"First topic of the day." Professor Devera steps forward again and I immediately perk up. Finally. " The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders."

I start taking notes as murmurs ripple through the hall. Attack on Eastern Wing near Chakir–drift of Braevi gryphons.

"Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains," the Professor continues, "allowing the drift to not only enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight."

Well. That's not good. If the wards fail, then that means that other creatures can channel within Navarre, not just dragons.

"Thirty seven civilians were killed in the attack in the hour before a squad from the Eastern Wing could arrive, but the riders and dragons managed to repel the drift." Professor Devera crosses her arms. "Based on that, what questions would you ask?"

The room is dead silent. I wrack my brain for a question, but it continues to wander back to the two muffins hiding in my pocket. Finally I give in and take one out of the small cloth they're wrapped in, quickly stuffing pieces of it into my mouth.

"Come on, first years, show me you have more than just good balance," Devera urges. "Show me you have the critical-thinking skills to be here. It's more important than ever that you're ready for what's beyond our borders."

"Is this the first time the wards have faltered?" A first year asks. The two professors give each other a glance before shaking their heads. My eyes widen slightly before I school my features back into indifference. "And how...how often are they faltering?"

Professor Markham narrows his eyes at the girl. "That is above your pay grade, cadet. Next question relevant to the attack we're discussing?"

Shoving the last piece of muffin into my mouth and leaning back in my seat, I ask, "why would the wards falter?" I cock my head slightly, narrowing my eyes at the professors. They share another look before their gazes return to me.

"You are not qualified to receive that information." Devera turns her gaze away from me dismissively, but I sit forward in my seat.

"If the wards are breaking more often than usual, we should know," I argue. "And why. It's our duty to protect Navarre, isn't it? The first thing we should do is strengthen the wards." Murmurs of agreement roll over the room, and I slouch back down, staring at Devera and Markham with a hard gaze.

"Listen, cadet," Professor Devera says through gritted teeth. "You are not the one protecting Navarre. When you have graduated from Basgiath, you will be permitted more information, but you are a first year. The wards are not your concern. Now, any questions relating to the attack on the Eastern Wing?"

I huff in annoyance as other questions are asked. First year my ass. If the wards are faltering everyone should know, not just graduated riders.

"I agree with you," Rhiannon murmurs to me suddenly. "About the wards. More people should know if we're in serious danger." I smile at her in response and sit up, leaning on the desk.

"Thanks. I'm Wisteria, by the way," I reply, realizing that nobody probably knows my name. Maybe you've been just a little too quiet, Wisteria.

"Rhiannon," the dark skinned girl says with a grin. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," I respond as we both turn back to the professors.

After a few moments, Rhiannon speaks up. "What altitude is the village at?" Oh, smart. I had forgotten that gryphons fly and channel better at low altitudes, which means that if the village is at a higher height, it would make for an awkward attack point. If it is high altitude, what would coerce them to attack there?

"A little less than ten thousand feet. Why?" Professor Markham says in response.

"Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons," Rhiannon answers.

"It is a little high for a planned attack." Devera nods. "Why don't you tell me why that's bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail?" I twist my neck around to look at the woman, who seems to shrink even smaller in her seat as all gazes turn to her.

"Gryphons aren't as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel," Violet states, sitting up in her seat as she begins to speak. "It's an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what...an hours flight from the nearest outpost? That is Chakir right there, isn't it?"

I glance down at the map infront of me, impressed.

"It is." Devera smirks slightly at Violet. "Keep going with that line of thought."

"Didn't you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?" Violet asks suddenly, her eyes narrowing. I take a look back down at the map. Huh. It'd take at least a half an hour to call for help, and another thirty minutes to get ready and organize the squad before leaving for Chakir from the nearest outpost, which the squad came from. So two hours at most to get there.

"I did."

"Then they were already on their way!" Violet says quickly. Laughter ripples around the room, and I glare at everyone that looks our way. That's my squad member you're laughing at, and she's right, dipshits.

"Yeah, because that makes sense," Jack Barlowe says, sneering. "General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn't know when it'll happnen, dumbass."

"Fuck off, Barlowe," Rhiannon and I snap at the same time. The dark skinned woman shoots me a smile, which I return.

"Why do you think that Violet—Cadet Sorrengail?" Markham winces and quickly corrects his mistake. Ah, so they know each other.

"Because there's no logical way they get there within the hour of the attack unless they were already on their way. It would take at least half that long to light the beacons in range and call for help, and no full squad is just sitting around waiting to be needed," Violet replies. I have to admit, while she's frail with very little body strength, her smarts will be an asset to our squad. Besides, her body can be trained. Brains are much harder to strengthen.

"More than half those riders would have been asleep, which means they were already on their way," Violet finishes. I smirk at Jack Barlowe, who flips me off subtly. I return the gesture happily.

"And why would they already be on their way?" Devera smiles encouragingly at Violet.

The woman lifts her chin, and I can tell she's beginning to feel more confident. "Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking."

"That's the most—" Jack Barlowe starts to argue, but Professor Devera quickly shuts him down.

"She's right. One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and he destruction of the village much worse." Professor Devera nods at Violet, who resturns the gesture, before the professor turns to the rest of the class. "Second and third years, take over. Let's see if you can be more respectful to your fellow cadets." She levels Barlowe with a look, and questions start to fly from the older cadets.

I write down each one on my note sheet, along with its answer, but I don't really pay attention until I hear Xaden Riorson speak up.

"What was the condition of the village?" My head turns to see the tall man standing at the back of the room, in all of his muscle-y, arrogant, annoyingly good looking glory.

"Riorson?" Markham asks. He shields his eyes as if looking directly at Xaden might burn his eyeballs and blind him. Maybe a little much, Wisteria. He's just avoiding looking directly at the mage lights.

"The village. Professor Devera says the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed? They wouldn't demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack." Gods, I hate how smart he is.

I hate it even more when Devera smiles approvingly and replies, "The buildings they'd already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived."

"They were looking for something," Xaden continues confidently. "And it wasn't riches. That's not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?"

"Exactly. That's the question," Professor Devera says, and surveys the room with something that resembles pride in her gaze. "And that right there is why Riorson is a wing leader. You need more that's strength and courage to be a good rider."

"So what's the answer?" Someone to my left speaks up.

"We don't know. It's just another piece in the puzzle of why our constant bids for peace  are rejected by the kingdom of Poromiel. What were they looking for? Why that village? Were they responsible for the collapse of the ward, or was it already faltering?" Devera's gaze hardens as she looks around at all of the cadets in the room, her gaze meeting with each one of ours. "Tomorrow, next week, nest month, there will be another attack, and maybe we'll get another clue. Go to history if you're looking for answers. Those wars have already been dissected and examined. Battle Brief is for fluid situations. In this class, we want you to learn which questions to ask so all of you have a chance at coming home alive."