•𝟓.𝟓𝐊•

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

     𝕬 light drizzle patters against the windows across from him, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡'𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑓 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟. Res' odd-colored irises trace the crystalline droplets trickling down the glass as he sits behind Violet in Dragon Lecture.

"Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from at Threshing," Professor Kaori says with a stern gaze, his dark eyes slashing toward his nose as he studies the new recruits for a beat.

ℌe changes the projection he's conjured from a Green Daggertail to a Red Scorpiontail.

𝔗he Dragonkind Professor 'tis an illusionist, and the only professor in the entire quadrant with the signet ability to project what he sees in his mind.

𝑅𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑟, Reserras thinks to himself, slumping in his seat with his legs outstretched in front of him, an ankle crossed over the other.

𝔗he Red Scorpiontail in the center of the circled desks is a fraction of its actual size–𝑠𝑖𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡–but it's an exact replica of the firebreather awaiting in the Vale for Threshing.

"Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper," the professor continues, his trimmed mustache curving as he smiles at the illusion.

𝔗he cadets all scribble down his words within their journals, though Reserras 'tis more languid in his note-taking, for he already knows most of the things the professor tells them.

"So if you offend him, you're – "

"Lunch," Ridoc utters from his wooden seat beside Violet, and the room rings with laughter, even Jack Barlowe snorts.

"Precisely." Kaori responds. "So, what's the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?" His gaze sweeps across the cadets, a brow lifted in expectation.

"They prefer that you approach from the left and from the front, if possible," a woman answers.

"Or not at all," Reserras mutters, and Sawyer snickers beneath his breath.

𝔎aori nods, "Excellent. For this Threshing, there are three Red Scorpiontails willing to bond."

𝔗he glistening spectral image changes to a different dragon–a Brown Daggertail.

"How many dragons are there in total?" Rhiannon, occupying the desk on Violet's other side, asks.

"A hundred for this year." Kaori answers, changing the image again–an Orange Clubtail. "But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see."

"That's thirty-seven fewer than last year," the second to youngest Sorrengail suddenly says aloud, shock lacing her tone. Like himself, Violet never spoke much in the classes Second Squad had together, but Res 'tis sure her reasons 'twere different from his own.

ℌe merely felt no need to speak aloud, opting to silently observe instead, whilst she probably didn't wish to call anymore attention to herself than her surname already did.

𝔎aori's dark eyebrows rise, "Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty-six fewer than the year before that."

   𝔅y the year, fewer dragons 'twere willing to bond in order to defend Navarre, even with the attacks at the eastern border ever increasing–according to Battle Brief.

𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑, resentment tastes bittersweet on his tongue, 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑁𝑎𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛.

𝔚henever a dragon decides to bond with him, he 'twill only defend those in the province whom are innocent of its generals' crimes.

ℜeserras 'tisn't one to blame the many for the crimes of the few, he isn't a true Navarrian.

"Will they tell you why they won't bond?" Another first-year asks.

"No, jackass," Jack scoffs, his icy-blue gaze narrowing on the cadet, and Reserras lifts his eyes into a roll. 𝐼'𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑖𝑛 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑘 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑠.

   "Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now."

𝔗he Dragonkind Professor sends the cadet a look that seals Jack's mouth shut–𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦–but it does nothing to deter Jack from sneering at the cadet whom first spoke.

𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒?

"They don't share their reasons," the instructor goes on to say, "and anyone who respects their life won't ask a question they're not willing to answer."

"Do the numbers have an affect on the wards?" Aurelie questions, tapping her quill against the edge of her desk–Reserras has come to notice that she's never quite happy with just sitting still, always fidgeting in every class.

𝔗he professor's jaw ticks twice, "We're not sure. The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre's wards before, but I'm not about to lie to you and say that we're not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are."

   ℜes' stomach sinks remembering the rate the wards are faltering by the day–the only things keeping those he loves away from war and ruin.

𝔈ither Navarre 'tis weakening or, the more horrifying notion, the enemy is growing stronger.

𝔗he projection suddenly changes to Sgaeyl, and Res, entirely subconsciously, drops his hand from his desk and rubs his thumb in circles along the texture of the dragonscale armor underneath his form-fitting uniform.

"You won't have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this year, but you should recognize Sgaeyl if you see her."

"So you can fucking run," Ridoc drawls, his tone thinly layered with dread, and Reserras just smirks to himself whilst the others around them snicker, 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤...

"She's a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should," apprehension furrows his brows, "definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, don't approach them. Just..."

"Run," Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his brunette curls.

"Run," Kaori agrees with a smile, the mustache hovering over his top lip quivering slightly. "There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you'll find them along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense."

   𝔇read strikes his heart and ripples down Reserras' spine at the thought of Xaden being sent to the Esben Mountains after graduation, like his sister.

ℌe knows the man 'tis more than capable of defending himself against any foe in this wide world, especially with that terrifying she-dragon of his, but... 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒.

"They're all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all," Kaori continues, and Reserras hums beneath his breath, 𝑛𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠.

"What about the black dragons?" The first-year shouldering Jack inquires. "There's two here, right?" And at his friend's words, Jack's face beams with eagerness, "I want one of them."

ℜes rolls his eyes, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑠, 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒.

"Three, Cadet Sullon. Not that its going to matter," with a flick of his wrist, a massive black dragon takes Sgaeyl's place–even the illusion is bigger, making Res crane his neck slightly to look up at its head, "but just to appease your curiosity, since this is the only time you'll ever see either of them, here is one."

   𝔄stonishment overwhelms the first-years, then Rhiannon breaks the short silence, "He's huge. And is that a clubtail?"

𝔎aori shakes his head, "No. A morningstartail. He possesses the same bludgeoning power of any clubtail, but those spikes there will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail."

"Best of both worlds," Jack's smirk all but radiates with avidity. "He looks like a killing machine."

"He is," Professor Kaori nods. "And honestly, I haven't seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here, what can you tell me about black dragons?"

"They're the smartest and most discerning," Aurelie answers.

"They're the rarest," Violet remarks. "There hasn't been one born in the last... century."

"Correct." The illusion spins, and Reserras finds himself staring into a pair of glaring molten-gold eyes. "They're also the most cunning. There is no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon. This one is little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He's revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish Rebellion."

ℜeserras contains his grimace, shifting slightly in his seat as he clenches his fist around his quill.

"Add to it that he's a morningstartail, and he's one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre."

"I bet he powers one hell of a signet. How do you approach him?" There's pure avarice in Jack's eyes as he leans forward in his seat, mirrored by his friend beside him.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑠𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑠 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛. 𝑁𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

"You don't," Kaori's mouth forms a thin line, his jaw ticking. "He hasn't agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising," a pale redhead across the circle from Violet tugs her sleeve down to cover her rebellion relic, "and the only way you would ever be near him is if you're in the Vale, which you won't be, because you'd be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge."

"What about the other black dragon?" Jack urges.

𝔎aori expels a breath, "Aside from knowing she exists, we know nothing else of her. None have ever seen her beyond the Vale for long, and she's never agreed to bond."

"Well, someone should ask them again."

"It doesn't work that way, Barlowe. Now, there is only one other black dragon, which is in service – "

"General Melgren's," Sawyer says, and Res flinches at the name. "Codagh, right?"

"Yes," the professor nods. "The eldest of their den and a swordtail."

'𝔗would seem Barlowe weren't yet done with the conversation, "But just for curiosity's sake," Jack's glacial gaze doesn't once stray from the illusion of the unbonded dragon still being projected, "what signet ability would this guy gift his rider?"

𝔎aori closes his fist, and the illusion disappears. "There's no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet."

"Fine," Jack huffs. "What was his previous rider's?"

"Naolin's signet was siphoning. Just like Cadet Atonal's brother, Raelon." Reserras blinks, Raelon 'tis a fucking siphon? 𝐼𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑚𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠.

𝔗he professor's shoulders fall, "They can absorb power from various sources–other dragons, other riders–and then use it or redistribute it for themselves."

"Badass," Ridoc's tone drips with more than a little hero-worship. "I wish Raelon was in our squad," he mutters, not so quietly.

𝔅eneath her breath, Violet huffs a laugh, looking over her shoulder at Reserras. He throws a non-threatening glare at Ridoc, who feigns a shiver of fright, "Sorry, Res. We still love you."

ℜeserras just scofffs in amusement.

   "Naolin was," Kaori agrees.

"What kills someone with that kind of signet?" Incredulously, Jack scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

𝔓rofessor Kaori glances to the second to youngest Sorrengail for the heartbeat of a moment before he looks away. "He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider–which didn't work, because there is no signet capable of resurrection–and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you'll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burnt out and died next to that rider."

𝔗he professor flicks his wrist and thunder rumbles as another dragon fills the entire space in the center of the circled desks.

𝔗he dragon 'tis gigantic, the illusion, itself, at least eight feet tall. Every cadet must crane their neck to look into its menacing gold eyes.

"Is that..." A first-year begins, trailing off with wonderment.

𝔎aori nods, his mustache curving with his smile, "Yes, it is. The White Speartail. He is the last of the white dragons. A beauty, isn't he?"

𝔊azing upon the extraordinary dragon with awestruck wonder, loathe to look away, the cadets could only nod in silent agreement.

"Think of the signet one could get with that dragon!" Another first-year near the back shouts.

"Well, you won't," Kaori sighs, "because he hasn't agreed to bond in the last fifty years."

"Why?" Reserras suddenly blurts out, surprising not only himself but everyone else in the room.

𝔗he professor sighs again, and his brows furrow slightly, "No one knows, Cadet Atonal. He hasn't been seen in little over ten years."

ℜes' chest rumbles with a soft hum, staring into the White Speartail's pale gold eyes, 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡. Though, he doesn't trust to hope, truly hasn't in the last six years.

"Now, what do we know about white dragons?" Kaori asks the cadets.

"They're the most powerful den."

"And fucking ruthless."

𝔎aori nods, "Correct. They are invaluable in battle."

"What happened to them?" Rhiannon queries, curved brows creasing over brown eyes.

   "Since Unification, the number of white dragons faded from hundreds to the one we know of today. No one knows what happened to their den, whether they perished, or perhaps flew across the sea to the Isle Kingdoms."

   "So the dragons haven't told anyone why?" A first-year down Reserras' left asks.

   𝔎aori shakes his head, "No, Cadet Dalton."

   "They must've flown off. What the hell could kill a dragon like him?" Another cadet retorts.

   "Anything can be killed, cadets. Never forget that." His words ring with an unsettling sense of foreboding, grimly settling in the cadets' bones as silence reigns over the room.

   𝔗he resounding toll of the bells echoes through the corridors of the citadel, breaking the silence, and the cadets begin to gather their things, stowing away journals and ink pots within their bags.

   ℭonversing amongst themselves, the squads all file out into the hallway, emptying the room, and Res rises from his desk, shouldering his satchel as his squad waits for him by the door.

   𝔗hough, Violet remains behind to talk with Kaori, and Rhiannon waits for her by the door, telling the others to go on ahead, they'd catch up.

   𝔄nd so, side by side, all but two of Second Squad leaves for the gathering hall for lunch.

༻*✽*༺

—𝕬fter the bells rung, a flood of black leather poured into the halls and flowed down to the sparring gym for the first on-mat challenges of the year, a sense of either nerves or eagerness swirling through the air and eating away at the first-years.

   𝔚hilst the second -and-third-years seemed almost bored with it all.

   𝔒ne challenge a week, and Reserras' odd-colored eyes sweep across the gym, wondering whom 'twill be his first opponent.

   𝔗he night prior, in the hour they met within the hidden alcove of bushes, Elaessa had gifted to Reserras a finely stitched thigh-strap of black leather with five sheaths–mirroring the one Raelon wears around his right calf with five daggers–telling him she expects to see all sheaths filled by the time training for the Gauntlet began in a month.

   𝔚ith his hands clasped behind his back, Reserras stands to the side of the wide black mat and watches Rhiannon destroy her opponent–a guy from Second Wing–in no less than three minutes, ensnaring him within a headlock, cutting off his air supply.

   𝔄t his side, with a look of sheer boredom etched across his gorgeous features, Xaden crosses his arms over his chest as he shifts on his feet, observing the match.

   "Bored already?" Reserras' lips quirk with a mischievous smirk.

   𝔛aden huffs in amusement, "Give it two years, Ressy, you'll see."

   𝔚ith a snort, Reserras' gaze flicks across them to Violet when he notices Dain joining her side, glaring blunt daggers at Xaden beside him. Though, Xaden either doesn't notice or doesn't give a shit.

   𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟.

   ℜhiannon squeezes the neck of the Second Wing first-year tighter and, after another minute, the cadet falls limp in her hold. Rhiannon rises, victorious, as Second Squad claps for her.

   𝔖he leans over her opponent to remove the dagger at his side, "Looks like this is mine now. Enjoy your nap," she pats him on the head.

   ℜes snickers beneath his breath.

   "Not sure why you're laughing, Sorrengail," a sneering tone calls out from behind Violet. Reserras glares at the insufferable nuisance, not ignorant to the sudden tension rippling through Xaden's shoulder pressed against his own.

   ℌe doesn't allow himself to dwell upon the thought as Violet turns around to find Jack standing with his feet apart against the wood-paneled wall several feet away from her, wearing a cruel smile on his mouth.

   "Fuck off, Barlowe," she gifts him the middle finger, and Res snorts.

   𝔅arlowe sneers, "I honestly hope you win today's challenge." His cold eyes dance with a sadistic sense of glee. "It would be such a shame for someone else to kill you before I get the chance." He shrugs, "But then again, I wouldn't be surprised. Violets are such delicate... fragile things, you know."

   𝔖wift like a blink, Violet plucks a pair of daggers from her ribs and flicks them in Barlowe's direction in one smooth movement. They puncture the wall with a dull thud, one nearly nicking Jack's ear and the other an inch beneath his balls.

   𝔚hilst Reserras smirks with mirth, utter fear widens Jack's glacial eyes. 𝑂ℎ, 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑎𝑦.

   𝔖hamelessly grinning, Violet wiggles her fingers in a wave.

   "Violet," Dain hisses as Jack maneuvers around her steel blades, stepping away from the wall. "You'll pay for that." Barlowe growls then stalks off, but the rise and fall of his shoulders 'tis a little shaken.

   𝔄fter the cadet retreats like the coward he truly 'tis, Violet retrieves her daggers, sheathing them at her ribs once more before returning to Dain's side, who begins to reprimand her, but Res doesn't listen to the rest as Rhiannon's opponent is carried off the mat.

   𝔚hilst across him, Violet's gaze shifts to meet Xaden's. He lifts his scarred brow and she swears there's the barest hint of a smile dancing on his impossibly soft lips.

   ℌer heart flutters at the sight, then she looks to the silver-haired beauty beside her wingleader. 𝐼𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒, she thinks to herself as she admires the defined edges of his chiseled exterior.

   "Badass," Rhiannon interrupts her admiration of the ethereal Atonal, joining her other side. "I thought Jack was going to shit himself." Violet smothers a smile.

   "Stop encouraging her," Dain chastises.

   "Sorrengail." Professor Emetterio calls, glancing at the notebook in his hand and raising one bushy black brow before continuing, "Seifert."

   𝔚ith her heart in her throat, Violet steps onto the mat opposite Oren, whose complexion shimmers with a greenish twinge to it. She withholds a smirk. 

   "Don't take this personally," he says as they begin to circle each other, both of their hands raised. "But you'll only be a hazard to our wing."

   𝔚ithout another word, Oren charges, but his footwork 'tis sluggish. Violet spins away from his attack with ease, landing a punch to his kidney before bouncing back on her heels and palming a dagger.

   "I'm no more a hazard than you are," she snarls.

   ℌis chest heaves once and sweat dots his forehead, but he shakes it off, blinking rapidly as he reaches for his own blade. "My sister is a healer, and I've heard your bones snap like twigs."

   "Why don't you come find out?" She smiles and awaits for him to charge, because that's what he does. He's a bull, all power and no grace.

   𝔅eside the mat, Reserras watches as Oren's entire body rolls like he's going to vomit. He covers his mouth with his empty hand, breathing deeply before standing straight again.

   𝔙iolet could attack him now, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑, but instead she waits.

   𝔗hen, he charges again, his blade held high in a striking position.

   ℑt takes all but a few heartbeats for Oren to reach her, and her petite body holds its ground until the very last second, and when he swings his dagger downward, Violet dodges to the left, nicking his side with her blade whilst doing so, then turns and delivers a kick to his back, sending Oren sprawling on the black mat.

   𝔑ot wasting the advantage she now holds over him, Violet digs her knee into his spine with her blade to his throat. "Yield," she growls.

   "No!" Oren yells, yet his body begins to undulate beneath hers, and suddenly he retches up everything he's eaten since breakfast, splattering it across the rubber mat.

   𝑆𝑜 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠.

   "Oh my gods," Rhiannon's lip curls with the disgust dripping from her tone.

   ℜeserras grimaces.

   "Yield," Violet demands again, but Oren's heaving in earnest now beneath her and she pulls her blade away to avoid accidentally slitting his throat.

   𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡'𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑝𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑐ℎ, Reserras grunts in sheer disgust as his stomach begins to churn at the sight, looking away.

   𝔄 string of shadows slither from his ankles and curl into his palm, leaving chills in their wake, and Reserras notes that Xaden, 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒ℎ𝑜𝑤, looks even more bored with it all.

   "He yields," Emetterio declares, his expression contorted in revulsion.

   𝔙iolet sheathes her blade and climbs off him, dodging the puddles of sick. She takes the dagger Oren dropped as he continues to vomit, sheathing it victoriously. 

   "You won!" Rhiannon smiles, clasping her friend in an embrace as Violet walks off the mat.

   "He's sick," the Sorrengail says with a shrug. "I'll take being lucky over being good any day," Rhiannon counters.

   "I'll have to find someone to get this cleaned up," Dain says, his own complexion turning peaked.

   𝔗wo challenges after, Emetterio calls Res' name and his opponent's–a brute from First Wing, Qyle. A velvet shadow squeezes his bicep, silent encouragement, as Reserras steps onto the mat.

   𝔗he sapphire-encrusted hilts of his twin swords, sheathed upon his back in their criss-cross scabbards, awaiting to spill their first taste of blood, catch the mage light and shimmer.

   𝔔yle 'tis a burly man, Res observes, with the sleeves torn from his tunic to reveal thick muscles. He cracks his neck in a, 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐, attempt to intimidate Reserras as he twirls the axe in his grasp.

   ℜeserras rolls his eyes with a scoff, lifting one of his swords from its sheath and flourishing the glinting steel he'd long become one with years ago.

   𝔗oo cocky, he deems to himself, 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦.

   ℜes takes a fighting stance and awaits for Emetterio to give the command. The mat 'tis only twenty feet in either direction, and his entire focus narrows to its confines and the opponent within.

   "Atonal, huh? Son of the Betrayer's Dragon," Qyle sneers with such disdain, "I'll enjoy reuniting you with your daddy."

𝔄lthough he couldn't contain a glare, Res snuffs out the rage sparking to life within his chest–𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑–not even dignifying the first-year with a verbal response.

"Begin!" The professor shouts, and so it begins.

𝔔yle rushes Reserras, but the silver haired beauty merely spins away from the cadet's double-edged axe with his sword behind his back, as if in a well-rehearsed dance.

𝔔yle twists around with a growl rattling his chest and thrusts his axe upon Reserras, only for the lithe man to once again spin away from the glinting steel.

𝔗his attention-gripping display of swinging and spinning repeats itself thrice, when Qyle notices the smirk curling Reserras' perfect lips and realizes the cadet 'tis playing with him.

𝔄 horrid mixture of rage and embarrassment overcomes the brute's every sense, blocking out his reason and wisdom, and thus Qyle's swings become ruthless and relentless, thoughtless.

𝑃𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, Res' smirk widens, 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

ℜeserras sidesteps left then right, tilting back on the heels of his feet from another swing, sucking in his stomach to avoid it from being spilled out on the mat below them, the breeze from the force Qyle musters to swing his monstrous axe sweeping across his cheek.

𝔚ith a flourish of his sword, he leaps away from the axe which now puts him behind Qyle. Only, the cadet 'tis swift to turn around with a strong thrust of his weapon.

𝔄ll of those whom acutely observe the dueling pair loose their breath as Reserras springs into the air with such lethal grace and spins mid-air over Qyle's axe attempting to impale his stomach.

𝔗he silver-haired cadet lands in a crouch, then, before anyone could even so much as blink, shoves his glinting sword into Qyle's own stomach, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘.

𝔄nd there it 'twas, as blood splatters onto his ivory skin when he yanks his sword from the cadet's belly–𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡.

𝔔yle's body drops to the mat with a thud that echoes across Res' mind, and yet Reserras feels... nothing, as he removes Qyle's dagger from its sheath when he stands.

ℌe feels a familiar burning gaze upon him. He needn't look to know to whom it belonged. There's an itch Res feels within his mind, as if Xaden is silently daring him to kill someone in front of him again.

ℑt was tempting, but he found no pleasure in this.

𝔗he challenge 'twere over nearly as soon as it had begun, and Reserras 'tis walking away twirling a new dagger between his fingers, pretending he doesn't hear the whispers nor feel the wide-eyed gazes upon his blood-soaked figure.

𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠.

𝔗he following week, Reserras fills his second sheath when he went up against Lily–a stocky girl from Third Wing. Then another the third week after he disarmed Addam from Second Wing.

𝔉or his fourth challenge, Reserras' dark brows quirk with surprise when none other than Bodhi steps onto the mat across from him, smirking so smugly.

"Oh, you know me, Res, I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to request you."

ℜeserras snickers, mirroring his smirk, "Well, come on, then. Let's see how slow you've gotten."

𝔄fter Emetterio's command, the pair palm a dagger and begin to circle each other like panthers awaiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

𝔖uddenly, Bodhi launches himself onto Reserras with such speed he manages to lock his legs around his neck before Res could defend himself, and slams them unto the mat below with a resounding smack.

ℜes' dagger 'tis knocked out of his hand, and Bodhi smirks, so infuriatingly, "Whose slow now?"

ℜeserras growls, throwing his elbow back. It collides with Bodhi's nose, which momentarily blinds him, and Res gathers his strength to flip them and kick Bodhi's dagger out of his hand, the blade sliding across the mat.

𝔗hen, Res digs his nails into Bodhi's calves, lifting the limb around the front of his neck to sink his teeth into tawny skin.

𝔅odhi grunts in pain and Reserras rolls himself out of his hold, leaping to his feet as Bodhi does the same, a trickle of blood leaking down his right calf.

𝔉or several seconds, strong punches are thrown and legs are swung around wildly, yet the friends spar with bloodied smiles upon their lips, snickers occasionally slipping from their devious smirks.

𝔅odhi, then, flings himself up into a one-eighty kick, and his boot smacks against Reserras' scarred cheek.

𝔚ith a grunt, Reserras falls to the mat, spitting out blood with a sliver steadily trickling from his lips like thick drool. Bodhi attempts to pounce unto Reserras, yet he rolls out of his path and lands his own kick to Bodhi's neck.

𝔗he breath 'tis knocked from his airways, and Res lunges, slithering his arms around Bodhi's neck and firmly holding him within a headlock.

𝔄fter a moment, Bodhi yields, slamming his hand against the mat in a repetitive movement. Reserras releases him from his hold and they stand, chests slightly heaving with tired breaths.

ℜespect shines within his brown irises as Bodhi gifts Reserras one of his daggers with a smirk, "You're fucking ruthless, Res. You'll make it."

𝔖pitting out more blood with a grin, Reserras sheathes his fourth challenge dagger and pats Bodhi's shoulder, whom returns the gesture, before they step off the mat as Emetterio calls the next pair.

𝔚ith a split lip, a throbbing cheek along with an aching rib, Reserras joins Ridoc and Sawyer when he feels those velvet shadows curling around his ankles and contains a grin.

𝔛aden. His shadow.

ℌe lifts his gaze across the gym, meeting Xaden's onyx eyes that gleam with pride–it makes his heart fucking flutter so furiously within his chest.

𝔗he fifth and final challenge comes the next week just before Gauntlet training 'tis to begin.

ℜeserras stands around the mat with the other first-years of his squad, watching Rhiannon dominant her fifth opponent. She's efficient and fucking vicious, 𝐼'𝑚 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑡.

𝔚hen it comes time for Violet's turn, she steps onto the mat, only for Emetterio to announce, scratching his short black beard, "Sorry, Violet. You were supposed to challenge Rayma, but she's been taken to the healers because she can't seem to walk in a straight line."

ℜeserras hums beneath his breath, it 'tisn't odd why every one of Violet's opponents ended up sick or dazed on the mat without her even touching them, 'tis quite ingenuous in his mind.

𝔅ut herbs and poisons will only get one so far in the quadrant.

"That's too bad," she winces. "Should I just..." She's already backing up to step off the mat, when someone interrupts her.

"I'm happy to step in."

𝔚ith a blink, Reserras looks from Xaden to the woman he stares so darkly at, feeling a sudden lump forming in his throat, struggling to swallow it.

"You sure?" Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"Absolutely," Xaden walks onto the mat, dressed in midnight flight leathers and a tight-fitted short-sleeve shirt, the dark rebellion relic on his skin shimmering in the golden light spilling through the opened windows and doors.

𝔄 corner of Xaden's perfect mouth rises in a smirk, and the gold flecks in his eyes seem to dance in the sunlight.

"A little out of her league, don't you think?" Dain argues from the side of the mat, the tension with which he spoke every word obvious to those whom heard.

"Relax, Aetos." Xaden peers over Violet's shoulder, his gaze hardening where Dain is standing. "She'll still be in one piece when I'm finished teaching her."

"I hardly think its fair – " Dain's voice rises.

"No one asked you to think, squad leader," Xaden sneers, moving to the side to discard every weapon on his body–𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑠–handing them to Imogen.

   𝔙iolet narrows her hazel eyes, palming her own blades, "You don't think you'll need those?"

   "Nope," he shrugs. "Not when you brought enough for the both of us." A wicked smile curves his mouth as he stretches out his hand and curls his fingers, in a come-hither motion. "Let's go."

   𝔚hilst he watches Xaden and Violet spar against one another on the mat, Reserras feels a certain, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, seeping into his tight chest.

   𝔙iolet Sorrengail 'tis a very beautiful woman, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑡, strong in her own unique way, but why does Res feel a sudden surge of resentment towards her when she looks at Xaden like that?

   𝔏ike he's the only one in the gym, like she wants to fuck all of her anger out on him?

   ℜeserras sighs beneath his breath, shoulders sinking as he looks away when Xaden, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, stepped away from his and Violet's quite indecent position.

   ℌe felt those velvet shadows slither around his ankles and gently squeeze, but they did not bring him their usual solace, Res didn't even look at Xaden.

   𝔑ot when he joined his side, not when he slightly nudged his shoulder.

   𝐺𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑖𝑡𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑉𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑡, 𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦.

   ℌis shoulders droop, and something pinches his heart.

   "Atonal," Emetterio calls.

   𝔅linking away those horrid thoughts and shoving them behind iron bars–𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑–Res rolls his shoulders and steps onto the mat.

   𝔊laring glacial eyes meet his own.

   ℜes scoffs, 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡.

   "Barlowe."

__________•༻*✽*༺•__________

༻ 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 ༺

Onyx Storm is a week away, omg I'm so f'n nervous, 😝! My poor baby boy, going through the stages of jealousy over here, 🤧.

The White Speartail and this third black dragon, though, hmm, 🤔, I wonder... 😏