•𝟕.𝟕𝐤•

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

     '𝕿was assessment day, so there Reserras Atonal stands with Second Squad on the sidelines of the sparring mat after lunch beside Violet Sorrengail, watching Ridoc and Aurelie circle one another in their fighting leathers.

   𝔗he pair are evenly matched in size, Reserras notes, with Ridoc on the smaller side and Aurelie built similar to Nesaerya.

   𝔚hich isn't all too surprising since Aurelie's a legacy on her father's side, or so he'd heard at lunch.

   "You seriously knew every answer in history and apparently every right question to ask in Battle Brief." Reserras overhears Rhiannon say from the other side of Sorrengail. "You're not even going to have to study for tests, are you?"

   𝔗he rest of the first-years within the spacious gym stand side to side, with the second- and-third-years opposite them, whom were superior for they had at least a year of combat training ahead of them.

   "I was trained to be a scribe." Violet shrugs, and the vest she wears shimmers slightly with the movement.

   𝔄ll the women are dressed similarly, though the cuts of their leathers are chosen by preference. Most of the men are shirtless, apparently sharing the belief that shirts give their opponents something to grab onto. And while Reserras wasn't arguing with that logic, he wouldn't give any of his opponents more pale skin to slice just for a display for the hungry women, and men. 

   𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑, 𝑜𝑟 𝑣𝑎𝑖𝑛.

   𝔄lthough glancing every now and again at the other squads around them, Reserras' eyes solely remain on his own squad's mat—one of the other twenty mats in the massive gym that consumes the first floor of the academic wing. One wall is made entirely of windows and doors, all left open to let in the breeze at the moment, but it's still stiflingly hot as sweat trickles down his spine under his vest. The scales of his armor catch the light and shimmer, though the deep blue of it blends in with the tops the cadets'd been given from central issue the day before.

   𝔈ven though it were only assessment day, Reserras has his twin swords strapped to his back in their criss-crossing sheaths. The sapphire-encrusted hilts sparkle in the soft evening glow. Three of the five daggers he'd carried across the parapet await to spill blood in their sheaths stitched into the armor worn over his black tunic—snugly fit around his chiseled torso—whilst the other pair sit in his knee-high, leather boots. Reserras kept the sleeves of his leather tunic rolled up his arms, which he held behind his straightened back, fingers clasped around his wrist. The black, form-fitting pants hug his muscular yet skinny long legs trained for agility.

   𝔄nd, as he had promised, his silver hair were done up into a braided bun at the nape of his neck, few tendrils framing his angular features.

   𝔅efore they left Lindell's manse in Trivainne for Basgiath, Liam wondered aloud if Reserras had ever considered cutting his hair. He merely gawked at him, as if Liam had suggested cutting off a limb. Reserras' hair is precious to him, like all the Atonals before him. Even Raelon still kept his hair long, along with their sisters. Reserras spent the majority of his mornings tending to his long hair, lathering the locks with scented oils.

𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑣𝑎𝑖𝑛.

   𝔗here were three squads from each wing within the gym that hour after noon, and First Wing had sent their three squads, including Raelon's. And Barlowe's done nothing but glare at Violet from two mats over since Second Squad walked in. But, oddly enough, Reserras keeps his only seeing eye on the vindictive man to assure he does not attempt anything foolish.

   𝔚hy he was suddenly willing to protect the Sorrengail in his squad, Reserras did not know.

   ℌe was not fond of bullies, and Violet is a compassionate woman. She never once looked at him with disdain after discovering he bore a rebellion relic. Perhaps he felt the need to repay her kindness with a watchful eye over Jack Barlowe.

   𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑠.

   "Guess that means you're not worried about academics." Rhiannon says, breaking his thoughts. She'd chosen a leather vest, but hers cuts in above the collarbone and secures at her neck, leaving her shoulders bare for movement.

   "Stop circling each other like you're dance partners and attack!" Professor Emetterio orders from across the mat, where Dain watches Aurelie and Ridoc's match with the squad's executive leader, Cianna.

   "I'm worried about this." Violet tells Rhiannon, tilting her chin toward the mat. Her brown hair that slowly fades around her shoulders to a steely, metallic silver by the ends is braided into a crown around her head.

   "Really?" Rhiannon shoots her a skeptical look, her braids twisted into a small bun at the nape of her neck, similar to Reserras. "I figured as a Sorrengail, you'd be a hand-to-hand threat." She gestures to Violet's twin, Amara, two mats down, destroying her opponent.

   𝔚hilst Violet had trained to be a scribe, Amara trained to be a rider like their older siblings.

   "Not exactly."

   ℜidoc launches toward Aurelie, but she ducks, sweeping her leg out and tripping him. He staggers but doesn't go down. He pivots quickly, palming a dagger in his hand.

"No blades today!" Professor Emetterio bellows from beside the mat. Emetterio's the fourth professor within the walls of Basgiath Reserras has met, and his compact frame reminds him of the giants his mother told fantastical stories about. "We're just assessing!"

ℜidoc grumbles and sheathes his knife just in time to deflect a right hook from Aurelie.

"The brunette packs a punch." A smile dances across her lips as Rhiannon admires Aurelie's fighting style, before she glances Violet's way as she asks, "What about you?"

ℜidoc lands a jab to Aurelie's ribs. "Shit!" He shakes his head and backs up a step. "I don't want to hurt you." Reserras rolls his eyes, 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.

𝔄urelie holds her ribs but lifts her chin. "Who said you hurt me?"

"Pulling your punches does her a disservice." Dain says, folding his arms. And, for once, the Atonal in his squad, silently, agrees with him. "The Cygnis on the northeast border aren't going to give her any quarter because she's a woman if she falls from her dragon behind enemy lines, Ridoc. They'll kill her just the same."

   "Let's go!" Aurelie beckons Ridoc to her by curling her fingers. It's clear as a damn crystal that more than half of the cadets trained their whole lives in preparation to enter the Riders Quadrant, especially Aurelie as she slips a jab from Ridoc and twists to land a quick tap to his kidneys.

   𝑂𝑢𝑐ℎ.

   𝔗he six Atonal siblings' father, Resaron Atonal, had graduated from Basgiath War College as a rider and were descendants of a six-generation long bloodline of Atonals. A legacy of riders, presumably one of the first to bond with the dragons but that were more myth than history.

   𝔚henever his children grew big enough to hold a sword—𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑘—Resaron had one in their hand, all aside from Elaessa, who were incapable of violence. Just like his sweet wife had been—but that never meant Lila Atonal didn't defend her children with her dagger when the need arose.

   ℜeserras, his brothers and sisters, were trained from birth to become warriors and even had the rebellion never happened, the third son of Resaron Atonal knew he would be standing right here just as he is this day nonetheless.

   ℌe just wonders if Raerion would still be dead, too.

"I'm pretty good on the mat. My village is on the Cygnisen border, so we all learned to defend ourselves fairly young. Physics and math aren't problems, either. But history?" Rhiannon shakes her head. "That class might be the death of me."

"They don't kill you for failing history." Violet says with an amused grin quirking her lips. Ridoc charges Aurelie, taking her to the mat with enough force to make Reserras' upper lip curl. Violet's amusement fades. "I'm probably going to die on these mats."

𝔄urelie hooks her legs around Ridoc's and uses the leverage over him until she's the one on top, landing punch after punch to the side of his face.

𝔅lood spatters the mat as if an artist has spilled their paint over it.

"I could probably offer some tips to survive combat training." Sawyer speaks up for the first time from Rhiannon's other side, running his hand over a day's growth of brown stubble that doesn't quite cover his freckles. "History isn't my strongest subject, though."

𝔄 tooth goes flying, and skids across the mat until it stops at the tip of Reserras' boot. He grimaces at the bit of gum still latched onto it, kicking it away.

"Enough!" The professor shouts.

𝔄urelie rolls off Ridoc and stands, touching the tips of her fingers to her split lip and examining the blood steadily trickling from it, then offers her hand to help Ridoc up. He takes it.

𝔈metterio orders Cianna to escort Aurelie to the healers as Ridoc rejoins his squad beside the black mat.

"What about you, Reserras?"

𝔗he Atonal blinks at the sound of his name, turning his gaze unto the three pairs of eyes looking up at him. He were certainly not the tallest man in the quadrant, but he stands four inches over six-foot tall, putting him near eye-to-eye with Xaden, who is well over six-four. But he were taller than Raelon, something he will never let up about.

"Academics are a bore, yet simple enough. As to my skills on the mat, — " A dangerous smirk curls his lips. "I suppose you will see soon enough."

"You're fucking terrifying, you know that?" Ridoc says from Sawyer's side. Reserras' smirk only grows, "I take it as a compliment."

𝔙iolet swallows a sudden lump in her throat as she stares up at Reserras Atonal. A close friend, or ally at least, of her mortal enemy, if the event in the rotunda after formation spoke anything. All of her senses scream at her to take a step closer to the woman she knows she can trust... but a small voice in the back of her mind whispers to her to trust him, because he defended her in Battle Brief today.

"I'll make you a deal." 'Tis Rhiannon to break the silence, speaking to Violet, who tears her gaze away from Reserras to look into her brown eyes. "Let's help each other out. We'll help you with hand-to-hand if you help us with history. Sound like a deal, Sawyer?"

"Absolutely."

"Reserras?" Though the way Rhiannon spoke his name sounds like she'd rather not have him join. For she now knows, when Violet told her in the lunch line, Reserras to be loyal to Xaden Riorson, the third-year and their wingleader who wishes to see Violet Sorrengail and her twin dead.

"No. Two seems sufficient enough." 𝐵𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑑 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑. 𝐼𝑡'𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

𝔙iolet chose to ignore the small ounce of disappointment she felt at Reserras' denial. "Deal." She agreed, as one of the third-years wiped down the mat with a towel. "But I think I'm getting the better end of that."

"You haven't seen me try to memorize dates." Rhiannon jokes.

𝔄 couple of mats over, someone shrieks, and they all turn to look. Jack Barlowe has another first-year in a headlock. The other guy is smaller, thinner than Jack. Barlowe yanks his arms, his hands still secure around the other man's head. "That guy is such an ass — " Rhiannon starts.

𝔗he sickening crunch of breaking bones echoes across the gym, and the first-year goes limp in Jack's hold.

"Sweet Malek." Violet whispers as Barlowe drops the man to the ground. Reserras expels a breath. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑖𝑡. 𝑀𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑑.

"What did I say?" Their instructor scolds, his voice booming throughout the silent gym, as he charges onto the mat. "You broke his dammed neck!"

"How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?" Jack argues, shrugging without a care.

𝔖haking his head, Reserras lifts his eyes into a roll with a scoff, crossing his arms high behind his back. "Jackass." He mutters.

𝔄 quiet snort at his blind side reaches his ears, and Reserras knows Violet'd heard him.

"Eyes forward." Emetterio orders, but his tone is kinder than it has been as Second Squad looks away from the dead first-year. "You don't have to get used to it," He tells them. "but you do have to function through it." Then his short bout of sympathy fades as if never there at all. "You and you." He points to Rhiannon and another first-year in Second Squad—a man of stocky build, with blue-black hair, and angular features.

ℜeserras couldn't remember his name, and didn't bother trying to.

𝔚hile Rhiannon makes quick work of the first-year, even impressing Reserras every time she dodges a punch and lands one of her own, the second to youngest Sorrengail looks at Reserras, speaking his name to gather his attention. The Atonal—a family name she knows very well, both from the history texts and the stories—just hums in acknowledgment whilst still watching the match.

"Thank you." Those words gather his full attention, it seems, as Reserras looks into her eyes—a beautiful shade of light hazel with varying blues and ambers. "In Battle Brief today, I appreciate that you knocked that jackass down a peg."

𝔄 smirk curls his lips, neither cruel nor dangerous but amused. "'Tis my pleasure."

𝔖he chuckles.

"Do you yield?" They return their attention to the mat to see that Rhiannon'd taken the first-year guy to his back, her hand hovering mid-hit just above his throat.

𝑆ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡.

"No!" He shouts, and hooks his legs around Rhiannon's to slam her to her back. But she rolls and quickly gains her feet before putting him in the same position again, but with her boot to his neck.

"I don't know, Tynan, you might want to yield." Dain says with a grin. Reserras scoffs in amusement.

"Fuck off, Aetos!" Tynan snaps, but Rhiannon presses her boot into his throat, garbling his last word. He turns a mottled shade of red.

𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑔𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒.

"He yields." Emetterio calls out, and Rhiannon steps back, offering her hand. Tynan takes it.

"You — " Emetterio points to the pink-haired second-year with a rebellion relic. Reserras still couldn't put a name to her familiar face. "And you." His finger swings to Violet Sorrengail.

𝔄lthough her shoulders are tense, Violet nods and steps onto the mat. 'Tisn't like she could say no.

"You've got this." Rhiannon mutters, giving her shoulder a friendly tap as she passes Violet, standing beside Reserras now. Who notices her keeping a respectable distance.

ℌe only rolls his eyes, broad shoulders rising with a breath. 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑜𝑟 𝑉𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑡, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝑏𝑦 𝐶𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑥, 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.

"Sorrengail." The pink-haired girl looks Violet over like she's something she's scraped off the side of her boot, narrowing her pale green eyes. "You really should dye your hair if you don't want everyone to know who your mother is. You're the only half silver-haired freak in the quadrant."

"Never said I cared if everyone knows who my mother is." Violet circles the second-year on the mat. "I am proud of her service to protect our kingdom—from enemies both without and within."

𝔗he second-year's jaw tightens at the dig that Reserras pretends to not have heard. He knows the game Violet is playing. The second you let emotion enter the fight, you've lost.

'𝔗was a lesson his father taught him, and one he never forgot.

"You bitch." She seethes. "Your mother murdered my family."

𝔗he second-year lunges forward and swings wildly in anger, but Violet quickly sidesteps, spinning away with her fists up. The pair repeat this for a few more rounds, and Violet lands a few jabs of her own. The second-year growls low in her throat as she misses her again, and her foot flies at Violet's head. She easily ducks, but then the second-year drops to the ground and kicks out with her other foot, which lands square in Violet's chest, sending her backward.

𝔙iolet hits the mat with a thud, and the second-year's above her within mere seconds.

"You can't use your powers in here, Imogen!" Dain shouts, and finally Reserras recognizes the pink-haired second-year. She has since cut and dyed her hair, but she is still the Imogen who would trail behind the boys—him and his brothers, Xaden, Bodhi, and Garrick—down into the yard, wanting to train with them, during the summers whenever their families visited together in one or the others manse.

𝔖lightly tilting his head, Reserras' eyes narrow as the dagger Imogen, to the notice of no one else, it seems, unsheathes fails to penetrate Sorrengail's vest.

𝔗he steel doesn't even leave a dent nor a scratch upon the armor. And that is when he realizes, the way the vest shimmers, its a corseted dragonscale armor. Just like his own, only his were fitted to a breast-less man instead of the low v-collar of her dragonscale corset.

ℜeserras just hums curiously, wondering who made it for her as the dagger is re-sheathed.

ℭonfusion mars Imogen's face for just a second, long enough for Violet to send her fist into her cheek and roll out from under her. They gain their feet.

"What kind of armor is that?" Imogen asks, staring at Violet's ribs as they circle one another.

"Mine."

𝔙iolet ducks and dodges as Imogen goes at her again, but the young Sorrengail seems to become disoriented without a proper reason as to why.

𝔄t least, an unseen reason to the first-years.

"Imogen!" Emetterio shouts. "Do it again, and I'll — " Violet swerves the wrong way and Imogen catches her, taking her to the floor. The mat smacks against Violet's face, Reserras winces, and Imogen's knee digs into her back as she pulls her right arm behind her.

"Yield!" She shouts.

"No!"

𝑁𝑜𝑤 𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒.

ℑmogen pulls her arm farther, and Violet cries out as the ligaments stretch, shred, then pop. "Yield, Violet!" Dain yells.

"Yield!" Imogen demands.

"She yields." Emetterio says. "That's enough."

𝔄nd there that sound is again—the macabre sound of snapping bone—but this time, it's Violet's.

𝔚hat had followed afterwards were a blur for the first-years of Second Squad.

𝔙iolet's scream of sheer agony bounced off the walls and blended with the shouts of Dain as he scolded Imogen while stepping onto the mat, shoving the pink-haired second-year away from Violet before lifting her into his arms, then both had disappeared through the giant doors leading into the academic wing. No doubt taking her to the healers quadrant.

𝔄 silence overcame the gym for the single heartbeat of a moment before the room filled with the sound of chatter and sparring, once again.

"You — " Professor Emetterio points to Reserras. "And you." Then a first-year girl in Second Squad as Imogen walks off the mat, shoulders heaving as she mutters curses beneath her breath.

𝔅ut another voice, as deep as the rumbling of mountains and cold as the breeze of the night, speaks up before either of the first-years even step onto the mat. "I'll spar with Reserras."

𝔛aden Riorson steps onto the mat Second Squad surrounds and Reserras swallows the boulder in his dry throat as he notices the man is completely shirtless.

"It's only assessments today, Riorson." Emetterio states, though his gruff tone were not one of disapproval.

"Exactly." Xaden smirks. Reserras scoffs in amusement beneath his breath while rolling his eyes.

   "You are all in for a treat." Professor Emetterio says to Second Squad, clapping his hands. "Xaden's one of the best fighters we have. Watch and learn."

   𝔖tepping onto the mat, Reserras rolls his shoulders while flexing his hands sporting black, finger-less gloves dotted with sapphires across his knuckles—both for practicality and flattery.

ℜeserras'd lost feeling in his knuckles years ago when the man before him would have him punch the trees in the Duke's manse garden. The only part Reserras liked about those sessions were afterwards when Xaden would so tenderly clean then wrap his busted, and sometimes gushing, knuckles that burned as if dragonfire had kissed them.

𝔑umerous pairs of curious eyes settle on the men as they begin to circle one another. As his eyes admire his form, Reserras notices how the corners of Xaden's lips are curved, his hands curled into fists as his toned chest steadily rises and falls.

ℑt's what Reserras has always admired about Xaden Riorson. No matter who his opponent is, he is always calm before a fight, or at least an expert in locking away his inner turmoil.

ℌis twisting rebellion relic shimmers darkly under the light beaming through the windows and doors, and Reserras wills his hollow cheeks not to blush.

𝔘nbeknowist to the pair, Raelon Atonal and Garrick Tavis approach the mat, smirks on their lips. Without taking their eyes away from the duel, Raelon says, "I say Xaden knocks Ressy flat first."

𝔊arrick snickers, lazily twisting his torso to look at Raelon. "No faith in your own brother?"

"Oh, I have complete faith in Reserras' skills on the mat. Just not his ability to control his hormones."

𝔊arrick snorts, "You're on." They hold each others' arms to seal the bet before dropping their hands and watching the duel with even more intrigue.

"Like what you see, Ressa?" Xaden teases with a smirk accompanied by a wink, and Reserras huffs at the nickname he so despises. "Oh, my eyes are just burning with desire. Why not come at me so I can admire you from up close?"

𝔛aden darkly chuckles, then with a shrug, rushes at Reserras with such inhumane speed he, nearly, caught the Atonal off-guard. The pale-haired first-year side-steps a harsh fist that would've split his cheek then sends his leg out, landing a kick to Xaden's warm-toned back.

𝔗oo lost within the concentration and intensity of the match, Reserras doesn't acknowledge the dragon relic covering Xaden's entire back.

𝔗he wingleader hardly even stumbles and spins around in a full one-eighty round-kick that Reserras bends backwards beneath. Then he drops to his knees and spins on the mat when Xaden lunges at him, who lands in a roll and throws his leg out for a kick that sends Reserras falling forward with a grunt. Reserras quickly rolls to his back and throws all of his body-weight into his legs as he launches them upward and springs to his feet just as Xaden stands to his own.

𝔗he men circle one another again and there was no one else in the sparring gym, in Basgiath, in the world. Only Reserras Atonal and Xaden Riorson—two of sunlight and shadow.

𝔗his time, Reserras launches at Xaden, who dodges the hit aimed for his throat.

𝔗he crowd of cadets surrounding the mat as the men dodge and punch each other eagerly soak in the sight. Some blows hitting their mark and splitting skin, while others miss so narrowly it makes all the cadets hold their breath.

𝔚ith all the spinning away from blows, the bun that held Reserras' hair loosens and loosens until, with yet another spinning jump over a sweeping kick, his long hair falls out of its hold, spilling down his back in shimmering tendrils of molten-silver.

𝔗he beautiful, and luscious, locks momentarily distract Xaden, but 'twas enough of a moment to give Reserras the opportunity to pounce.

ℜeserras throws a punch at Xaden's nose, blinding the man as his eyes involuntarily water, then throws his legs out for a sweeping kick that has Xaden falling to his back. Without wasting a breath, Reserras lunges onto Xaden, keeping his legs pinned to the mat with his knees and holding his wrists on either side of Xaden's head.

𝔄 resounding chorus of gasps followed by whispers filters across the massive gym with wood-paneled walls. The ruthless and lethal wingleader of Fourth Wing, Xaden Riorson, has just been knocked onto his back by this newling.

𝔚ho is he?

ℜeserras Atonal, is the name answered to the whispers.

𝔄 marked one?

𝔄 separatist kid?

𝔚ait, Atonal?

ℜaelon's brother?

   ℜecognition seems to spark within those curious, wide-eyes. The Atonals and the Riorsons have been fierce and devoutly loyal allies to one another for generations. They all suppose it made sense the pair were so familiar. Many even began to fear Reserras in that moment, others deeming him a threat to their chance of bonding with a dragon that must be eliminated.

   𝔛aden weaves his hands with Reserras' and, with his sheer brute strength, flips the man unto his back with a thwack that reverberates across the gym. Some wince, but it didn't even seem to wind the Atonal.

   𝔛aden steals just a quick moment to admire the man beneath him, with his silver hair splayed into a halo around his head as several strands stick to the sides of his angular jaw and neck from the sweat beading down his porcelain skin which reflects the beams of the early evening sunlight.

   𝔗heir hard chests touch as Xaden leans down to whisper into his ear, rising and falling heavily against each other, and the warmth of his words sends a shiver down Reserras' spine he fights to conceal. "They all know what you can do now, Ressa. Some will know to get out of your way, but many still won't. Do. Not. Let your guard down, not even for a second."

   𝔛aden leans away to look into Reserras' eyes, lifting his scarred brow. Reserras, breathless, nods, "I know." Xaden, then, latches his hand around Reserras' wrist and pulls him to his feet as he stands to his own, an oddly hot move to Reserras.

   𝔗he men nod at one another as Professor Emetterio calls another pair onto the mat. 𝐹𝑢𝑐𝑘, 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑡; 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡.

༻*✽*༺

—𝕬fter classes ended for the day, in the time between the last class and dinner, Reserras had found himself in the courtyard, alone, wondering about.

   𝔗he courtyard was a sizeable open space that connects the turret he and all the others climbed to the citadel via the parapet yesterday, and it easily held a thousand riders. Thus why formation is held in the yard every morning.

   ℜeserras stops in place and looks to the sky, glowing bright gold and orange with dusk, as a winged shadow passes overhead, followed by a dragon's unforgettable roar.

   𝔗he underbelly of a Brown Scorpiontail passes overhead, flying back to the Vale, no doubt.

   𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡. The dragon disappears across the ridgeline where the flight field rests atop.

   𝔄s he begins to ascend the wide staircase to the four giant doors of the rotunda, deciding to lounge in the barracks before dinner, the whisper of his name reaches his ears.

   ℜeserras freezes with a soft gasp. He hadn't heard that voice in six years, yet he'd recognize her anywhere. Whirling around, he catches the glint of her silver hair in the evening glow disappearing into the circlet of evergreen bushes shouldering the stairs.

   𝔚ithin a heartbeat, he jumps down the steps and rounds into the alcove of bushes.

   𝔄 smile blooms on Reserras' lips.

   𝔖tanding before him is Elaessa Atonal, his older sister by a year and the only marked one to enter the Scribe Quadrant. Though, he finds himself wondering what she were doing in the citadel and how she had escaped Markham's heavy supervision—the price for Elaessa to become a scribe, from what Nesaerya's letters told him.

   𝔖pringing into a light sprint, Reserras throws his arms around Elaessa and lifts her off the ground. She giggles as he spins her, burying her nose in his neck to breathe the brother she hadn't seen in far too long.

   𝔖andalwood, leather, and citrus, just as she remembers.

   "I missed you, fierce Ressy."

   𝔄s his heart fucking soars at the nickname he only let his siblings and Xaden use coming from her, Reserras returns his sister to her feet and kisses her crown of silver hair. Elaessa smiles up at him, holding his cheeks in her soft palms.

   "And I you, sweet Elssy."

   𝔖he brightly giggles, and stands on the tips of her toes to kiss his nose.

   𝔈laessa wore the common cream-coloured scribe robes with a golden rectangle on her shoulder, yet the hood was pushed down to reveal the silver hair dipped in starlight the Atonals were most recognized for.

   "You're taller." He snickers, "So I've been told."

   𝔖he pulls out a worn journal from her robes along with a neatly folded parchment letter. The younger brother lifts a brow, confused.

   "Mira Sorrengail gave me these before she left this morning. She thought her sisters would benefit with it. I think she just hopes it'll help them survive."

   𝔈laessa leaves out the part where Mira, their older sister's friend—once squadmates in their three years at Basgiath now serving in the same Wing—called in her favor for convincing her mother to conscript her into the Scribe Quadrant a year ago.

ℜeserras doesn't ask why, either, just nods. He knew the Sorrengail twins were bunked with the rest of the women in the first-floor barracks of the dorms.

"Would you take this to them for me, Ressy?" He nods, taking the book and letter into his hands and tucking them under his arm, "Sure."

𝔗hough, before he leaves for the first-floor barracks, Reserras stays behind a moment longer to talk with the sister he hadn't seen in so long.

"How has the Scribe Quadrant treated you, Elssy?"

"Better than this quadrant would have, I'm sure. 'Tis only Markham breathing down my neck all day that's the worst of it."

"No ones tried anything?"

𝔄 soft grin crosses her beautiful face at his protectiveness over her—all of her siblings were extremely protective of her. She flattens her palm on his scarred cheek, tracing his high cheekbone with her thumb. "No. And even if someone did try, I had Raelon and Xaden keeping an eye on me, and now you, too."

ℜeserras grins, kissing her palm before she lets her hand drop to her side again. "Always, Elssy."

𝔈laessa giggles and stands on her toes to wrap her arms around her younger brother's neck, pulling him into an embrace. One he falls into with a content breath.

𝔗he remaining Atonal siblings, the children of Resaron and Lila Atonal, are all one another has left in the world, and no matter the miles nor time apart would the love they have for each other be extinguished.

𝔈laessa missed, and misses, her sisters and brothers very dearly. And it pains her that she will never see her older brother, Raerion, ever again. She couldn't bare to loose another sibling, it'd shatter her heart beyond repair.

𝔗he siblings were each others greatest weakness, and yet their greatest strength.

𝔎nowing it were time to part ways before Markham could notice Elaessa's absence, they pull away from the embrace. Reserras kisses her head before, with a soft grin and a heavy heart, he leaves for the first-floor barracks.

𝔄sking the first cadet he saw, Reserras treks through the four rows of bunks toward the one, he presumes at least, is Violet Sorrengail's. He were not ignorant to the curious—and lustful—eyes trailing him, but he pretends as though he is.

𝔈ven with one seeing eye, he were still scarily perceptive.

𝔘pon, supposedly, locating Violet's bunk, Reserras finds Rhiannon Matthias lounging on the bunk beside it, though, she sits up when her brown eyes notice his sudden presence.

"Reserras." She greets, though, it were tense, he notes.

ℌe just nods. "This Violet's?"

"And if it is?" She stands, tilting her neck to look into his eyes as she reaches just above his shoulders, crossing her arms atop her chest.

"Relax, I don't intend to plant some toxic herb beneath her pillow." He scoffs. "That'd be pathetic. I only mean to drop this off." He lifts the journal for Rhiannon to see.

𝔗he tension in her shoulders seems to relax somewhat. And Reserras tucks the letter between a pair of random pages before he carelessly drops the journal onto the single pillow.

𝔗hough, just as he turns around to leave for the third-floor barracks, Rhiannon—an honest and "not one to beat around the bush" woman—speaks up, "Should I consider you a threat to Violet?"

𝔗he lethal Atonal twists his torso to look at her without fully turning around. The pale glow of the mage-lights illuminates his scar, only adding to his sword-cutting edge appearance that makes him so damn hot.

"Do I need to be?" He lifts his scarred brow. "Don't be." It were both a threat of her own, and a desperate plea.

ℜeserras did not hold it against her. True friends were, after all, quite rare and hard to come by within Basgiath—people you could trust not to kill you.

ℜeserras only had five of those... thus far.

𝔅ut he knows why Rhiannon asked that, of course. She found out, not that it was a secret, he is close with Xaden Riorson—the mortal enemy of the Sorrengail twins. The man, supposedly, out to kill them.

ℜeserras knows Xaden, better than himself half the time. When the man wants someone dead, he doesn't play with his prey. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔, 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡.

𝑀𝑎𝑦ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒.

ℜhiannon must think he'd kill Violet, or Amara, for Xaden, and most likely get away with it since the third-year is their wingleader. Or even tell him of Violet's weaknesses, her day-to-day habits, and so forth.

𝔄ny of which, Reserras will not. Because he doesn't have too. Xaden is just as intuitive and perceptive as he is, perhaps more so.

𝔅ut Reserras Atonal has no desire to see Violet Sorrengail dead, none of her siblings honestly, hasn't since the moment he saw her after parapet—the silver in her hair was hard to miss.

𝔈specially when Violet did not grimace nor sneer when she discovered he were a marked one at dinner the night prior—like some did. He could've even sworn he saw a bout of sympathy and sorrow in her eyes for just a heartbeat before it vanished.

𝔈ither way, Violet Sorrengail is safe from the pointy end of his blades.

"She has nothing to fear from me." A dangerous smirk curls his lips. "Not yet, that is." 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑠ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑀𝑎𝑡𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡.

𝔗hen Reserras Atonal is gone.

༻*✽*༺

—𝔏eaving the first-floor barracks, Reserras'd made his way to the third-floor only to find his brothers and Xaden in a secluded alcove in the hall wall, hidden by shadows, beyond the massive doors joined by two familiar faces he hadn't seen since the executions.

   𝔊arrick Tavis and Bodhi Durran.

   𝔗he younger Atonal brother grins to himself when Bodhi, the softer and more approachable version of his cousin, Xaden, with his warm brown eyes and quick grin, spots him before the others do.

𝔗he cousins' features resemble each other so closely people often mistook them for brothers, even still.

   "Reserras fucking Atonal!" A wolfish grin lifts Reserras' lips, "Bodhi Durran."

𝔅odhi's smile resembles his deceased mother's, gentle and flooding those who witness it with a soft warmth, as it stretches across his lips. And the others turn toward the younger of the Atonal brothers approaching them.

𝔅odhi drags Reserras into an embrace. "You're still so fucking skinny." He remarks. Reserras chuckles, patting his back.

𝔏ike Liam, Bodhi was like another brother to him—a constant figure in their youth, always pulling pranks on everyone else with Raerion.

𝔖tepping away, "And you're still as rebellious as ever, I assume?" Bodhi just smirks with a wink.

ℜeserras turns to the tall, dark hair with pale skin, Garrick, whose shoulders take up twice the space of the average person—the only person to surpass Xaden in height. His towering form is densely packed with muscle.

𝔚hen they were all young, Reserras swore Garrick had giant's blood running through his veins. He still thinks it.

ℜeserras had been the shortest in their shared youth. In a sense he supposes he still is, only now surpassing Bodhi and Raelon.

𝔚ith a chuckle, Garrick snatches Reserras off his feet and he's spun around as his feet fly out in front of him. "Look at this badass who knocked our wingleader to the mat today."

ℜeserras snickers.

"Put him down." Raelon chides, though an amused smile breaks out across his lips anyway as the others laugh.

𝔚hen the soles of his boots meet solid ground again, Garrick ruffles his hair and Reserras huffs as he shoves his wide shoulder. Garrick just chuckles and drapes an arm around Reserras' shoulders, tugging him into his side.

"You know you missed me, Res." Reserras scoffs, playfully shoving Garrick's arm off his shoulders. "Only in your dreams, you giant." The others laugh as Garrick feigns a heartbroken expression, pressing a hand to his "broken" heart with a dramatic gasp. Reserras rolls his eyes at his familiar antics with a chuckle.

ℌe had missed Garrick and Bodhi these past years—those summers their families would spend together before the rebellion when everything fell apart.

   "After all these years, one would think entering the Riders Quadrant would've had you finally cutting these luscious locks." Garrick heartily teases, lifting a silver stand of Reserras' long hair to let it fall between his gloved fingers.

   "I suppose you would think so, you fool."

   𝔅odhi, Liam, and Raelon snicker as Xaden smirks beside Reserras, arms folded atop his chest.

   "I'd bet your silken locks are more precious to you than your sisters and Raelon, here." Bodhi teases, mirroring his cousin's posture.

   ℜeserras scoffs, "It most certainly is not." Liam snickers, "Well, let's say a cruel, cruel, being gave you the choice to cut your hair or sacrifice your siblings?"

   "I'd sacrifice all three of you, instead." Reserras doesn't hesitate, lifting a taunting brow. The men all laugh, though, Reserras is ignorant to the onyx eyes softening at the beautiful sight of his smile.

   ℜeserras' beauty is a blinding beauty like the sun, and all Xaden wants is to bathe in its warmth.

   "You said "all three of you", not four. My, my, dear Ressy, I'm honored to be deemed more important than your luscious locks."

   ℜeserras grunts with a roll of his eyes and shoves his broad shoulder against Xaden's. Who snickers and lays an arm around Reserras' shoulders to tug him into his side, kissing his head. "I only tease."

ℌe hums, pretending to ignore Xaden, only for the older rider to pinch that ticklish spot between Reserras' neck and shoulder.

ℌe begins to squirm instantly with a yelp, though, Xaden's strong grip refuses to relent and keeps Reserras against his side.

"Okay, okay." Reserras chuckles, breathless with laughter.

   𝔚hilst the pair were lost in their world of shadows and sunlight, the other four share devious smirks with a knowing glint to their eyes. So fucking obvious.

   𝔄nd until the bells rung for 7 o'clock, the six caught one another up on their lives in the years apart, 'til they parted in two groups of three before they were caught together.

𝔗hey didn't need to suffer that headache of a punishment.

𝔅ecause more than three marked ones gathered together like that, was a violation of the Codex, and the laws of Navarre, but none of them had a care for it as it were a harmless reunion. Brothers in all but blood, aside from the cousins and Atonals, together again after years apart.

༻*✽*༺

—𝕿he first-floor barracks were nearly full by the time the Sorrengail twins return later in the night after dinner, Violet's throbbing right arm cradled in a light-blue sling that she knows makes her an even bigger target.

   𝐼𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒.

   𝔖ling says weak. They say breakable. They say liability to the wing.

   𝔗he sun had long since gone down, the hall lit by the soft glow of mage-lights as the other first-year women settle down for bed after an exhausting first day in the quadrant.

   𝔙iolet offers a smile to a girl who's holding a blood-speckled cloth to her swollen lip, and she returns it with a wince.

   𝔗he second to youngest Sorrengail counts three empty bunks in her row, and she hopes that doesn't mean those cadets are dead. She reasons they could be in the Healers Quadrant as she and Amara had been, or in the bathing chambers.

   "You're here!" Rhiannon jumps off her bed, already dressed in her sleeping shorts and top, relief in her eyes and smile as she sees the Sorrengail twins.

   "We're here." Violet assures her. "I'm already down one shirt, though."

   "You can get another from central issue tomorrow." Rhiannon looks like she might hug Violet but glances at her sling and backs up a step, sitting on the edge of her bunk as Violet and Amara do the same with the older twin's, facing one another. "How bad is it?"

   "It's going to hurt for the next few days, but I'll be fine as long as I keep it immobilized. I'll be all healed up before we start on-mat challenges."

   "I'll help you get ready." The Matthias woman promises. "You and Amara are the only friends I have in here, so I'd rather you didn't die when it gets real." A corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smile.

   "I'll try my best not to." Violet grins through the throbbing in her shoulder and arm, the tonic for the pain having long since worn off.

   "You better." Amara smirks, nudging her sister's uninjured shoulder. Violet smiles at her. Through it all, she's glad to have her twin—her other half, for they are two beings cleaved from one soul—with her in this place.

   "And I'll help you with history." Violet promises to Rhiannon. "We'll be unstoppable." Rhiannon declares as her gaze tracks Tara—the dark-haired, curry girl from Morraine—as she walks past their bunks.

   𝔅racing her weight on her left hand, the mattress dips and something slides off the pillow and hits the side of Violet's thigh. Her brows bend, looking down at the object—a journal, with a folded note between a pair of pages that says Violet and Amara in their older sister, Mira's, handwriting when she pulls the parchment out.

   𝔒ne-handed, Violet opens the note as Amara lays her chin on her uninjured shoulder to read the letter, too.

𝒱𝒾ℴ𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒜𝓂𝒶𝓇𝒶,

𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚜. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢. 𝙸'𝚖 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚗𝚔. 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙱𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘𝚘. 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍-𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚝. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎.

ℒℴ𝓋ℯ,
ℳ𝒾𝓇𝒶

𝔙iolet swallows past the knot in her throat and sets the note aside. "What is it?" Rhiannon asks. "It's our brother's." The words barely make it past her lips as Violet opens the cover.

𝔗heir mother burned everything he owned after Brennan Sorrengail died, as tradition dictates. It'd been ages since she'd seen the bold strokes of her older brother's handwriting, and yet there they are. Violet's chest tightens when a fresh wave of grief sweeps through her.

"The book of Brennan." Tears prick at her eyes, but she blinks them back. "It's just his journal."

𝔙iolet can hear his quippy, sarcastic tone as she skims over his words, as though he is standing with her and Amara, making light of every danger with a wink and a grin.

𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑛, 𝐼 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

"Reserras dropped that off." The youngest Sorrengails rip their gazes away from their brother's journal, Violet's lashes fluttering. "What?"

"You should've seen him on the mat today, equally terrifying and mesmerizing. Our wingleader went up against him, and... Reserras fucking took him to the mat."

𝔙iolet's eyes widen, now she really wishes Reserras had accepted to train her. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑑, 𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛.

"Yeah, I saw it, too. It was nice to see Riorson get knocked on his ass." Amara smirks.

"Reserras? Our Reserras Atonal?"

ℜhiannon nods, eyes wide as if she is remembering the event clearly. The sheer pounding of her racing heart as she could not tear her eyes away from the match. "Yeah."

"Shit."

ℜhiannon huffs a breath, then remembers her "conversation" with said man just an hour ago. "I asked him, when he dropped off your brother's journal, if he should be considered a threat to you."

   𝔙iolet's heart trembles.

   "He said, "not yet"."

   𝔄 breath falls past her lips, wondering what that meant.

"Either way, Vi, you should probably stay away from him. You too, Amara, Raelon is his brother."

𝔄mara huffs, "It's always the hot ones that want to slit your throat."

__________•༻*✽*༺•__________

༻ 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 ༺

Resden is just 😮‍💨. I love them so much, they're my endgame 😩. Does anyone wanna guess what Res' signet(s) will be??