•𝟓𝐊•

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

     𝖂ith sparkling sunbeams of the early morning dripping through the windows of the gathering hall, one seat amidst Second Squad's table remains empty, as it'd been for the past ten minutes now, and across the hall, Liam wonders where Reserras'd found himself.

ℜeserras Atonal 'twas a punctual person, never late unless whatever he 'twere doing could not be avoided or...

𝔗he entire hall seems to turn toward the silver haired beauty when the double doors open.

... 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦.

𝔄 smirk tugs at Liam's lips, and he scoffs in amusement whilst shaking his head at his brother's not so uncommon dramatics, sparing a glance at the raised dais where leadership sits. And his smirk widens at the sight of Xaden's wide eyes, so full of lust, staring at Reserras... more so, the man's new look.

ℭoated in the well-known riders black, leather pants frame Reserras' long legs, the hilts of the daggers in his boots and sheathed within the strap around his thigh shimmering in the dappled rays of sunlight. The navy-blue scales of his dragonscale armor, peeking out from the buttoned leather jack, glitter and glisten as they catch the pale gold light, as well.

𝔗he glistening leather jacket, itself, 'tis what seems to have stolen everyone in the hall's attention.

𝔖pikes 'twere lined across the shoulders, silver and sharp as hell–for he wanted to throw in a little extra badass.

𝔄 flame shaped patch with the emblem for Fourth Wing and a cantered reddish number two and the Iron Squad's green patch 'twere sewn onto his left shoulder, with the single silver four-pointed star stitched onto the high collar to indicate his year.

𝔅ut there 'tis a third patch beneath the other two, triangular shaped with criss-crossing long swords–it 'tis meant to indicate that the wearer is "not to be messed with" on the mat.

𝔊arrick and Heaton bear similar patches, as well.

ℜeserras' broad shoulders rise with a breath, the silver spikes twinkling with the movement, before he walks over to the table in Fourth Wing's section his squad and brother occupy.

ℑt took three minutes until the gathering hall began to buzz with conversation again–most 'twere muttered words about the youngest Atonal brother.

'𝔗was no mere coincidence, Reserras Atonal had meant to arrive the way he did this morning, to show his power. And they all knew it. For his is bonded to the most powerful dragon on the Continent and his mate, the fourth most powerful dragon.

𝔗he sapphires embedded into the hilts of his twin blades glisten as he joins his squad, sitting between his brother and Imogen on the bench. All gawk at him in awed astonishment, though the senior riders seem more impressed with his display.

"Now that, my friends, is how you make an entrance," Ridoc smirks, earning a chorus of chuckles around the table.

"𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔." Pride, there 'twas pride in Fola's voice... 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒.

"𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟."

ℜeserras' shoulders fall as he expels a soft breath–𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑛–crossing his arms atop the table, and a grin curves his lips when he glances at Raelon, who nudges his spiked shoulder with a smirk.

   "Elssy made it," he tells him.

   "Who else?" Raelon teases, and Reserras snickers, shoving his shoulder.

   "You'll be the talk of the day with that stunt, Reserras." Heaton says as they peel an orange, chucking a slice into their mouth.

   ℜes huffs, "All I did was play copy-cat and put spikes on my shoulders." He juts his chin in the direction of the senior wingleader, Nyra, sitting with the other leadership.

   𝔖he meets Reserras' gaze with a prideful grin then a nod of respect. He returns it–having asked her, of course, if she minded sharing similar styles.

   "Still," Rhiannon speaks up, softly grinning, "she's not the rider of Grian and Fola, you are. And she won't manifest a pair of powerful fucking signets, you will." Her brown hair–in various rows of braids since it now falls to her collarbones–sways as she shakes her head, scoffing in amusement, "I suppose Second Squad is lucky you're in it."

   ℜeserras sends her a grin, grateful for her words. "Thanks, Rhiannon."

   "Rhi," she smiles kindly. "My friends call me Rhi." He mirrors her smile, bowing his head in a small nod.

   "I bet you'll be a fire wielder." Says Sawyer, but Quinn 'tis swift to disagree, "Fuck no. Fire wielding is too common. His signets will be rare, probably ones unheard of."

   "Perhaps he might be a shadow wielder like his wingleader," Raelon snickers so mischievously.

   ℜeserras lifts his eyes into a roll, feigning ignorance to the hidden tease within his brother's tone as he discreetly stomps on his toes beneath the table.

   "Or a lightning wielder," Violet joins the conversation with a smile. "They're practically unheard of. It'd take one badass dragon to channel that type of power."

   ℜeserras just huffs an amused breath as his squadmates continue to go on and on about the signets they think he 'twill manifest when his dragons begin channeling in the coming months.

   𝔗hough, he found himself wondering often since Threshing night what signets he 'twould manifest, how rare either would be, how powerful either one, or perhaps both, will make him.

   '𝔗is both a terrifying and exhilarating thought.

   𝔓rofessor Kaori told them signets say more about the rider than the dragon, so how will his own define him? How will they change him?

   𝔗hose swirling shadows, always with him whenever Xaden 'tis near, spread across his legs and squeeze his waist. Res looks over his shoulder at the raised dais, silver hair falling over his shoulder.

   𝑆𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑘. He looses his breath.

   𝔏ust. Love. Desire. They 'twere an unrelenting torrent of fire burning within those beautiful fucking eyes, pouring into Reserras' being and igniting a fire of its own beneath his skin, settling alight his blood and stirring awake the slumbering hunger in his lower-belly. 

   ℜeserras blinks, swallowing a sudden mouthful of saliva as blood rushes through his ears, ignoring but not ignorant to the way his leather pants begin to tighten.

   𝔗hough, the silent devouring becomes too much to bear in the public eye, and thus Reserras looks away first, shoulders falling with a long breath.

   𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒, 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑅𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛?

༻*✽*༺

     —𝕬 guttural roar that quakes the snow-tipped mountains beneath them bellows forth from Grian's jaws as pale gold flames dance across his teeth when a Green Clubtail flew too close to him during flight maneuvers an hour later.

𝔗he green bends its neck in submission, dipping below to join the others behind them.

ℜeserras just snickers, wiping the gathering fog from his flight goggles with his gloved thumbs as his braided hair billows in the wind whipping against his pink-tinted cheeks.

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦.

𝔊rian's only response 'tis a grumble through the bond. Reserras chuckles.

𝔉ola 'twere not with them this morning–𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑓𝑎𝑠𝑡. Which'd left Grian far more ill-tempered than his, 𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑙, stern and cranky self.

𝔄head of Tairn–whom dips to catch Violet when she falls, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟... 𝑖𝑠ℎ–Smachd tucks in his wings and Grian follows him into a near vertical dive down the mountainside. The wind howls in Reserras' ears as he clenches his thighs, his stomach rolling when his dragon fucking spirals as they pull out of the dive and immediately climbs toward the tips of the snowy peaks once again at a diagonal angle that has Res nearly sliding off Grian's back.

   ℑt hasn't escaped Reserras' notice that whatever maneuver Kaori's dragon performs, Grian makes it his personal mission to surpass it–𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑒!

   𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝐴𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑛'𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑡? He asks.

   "𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝐿𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐷𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑟–ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛."

   𝑆ℎ𝑖𝑡, Res huffs an astonished breath. Life Drainers 'twere all but unheard of, and even the majority of the recorded few there had been in the past six centuries couldn't kill someone completely.

   𝔄eron's signet had been so damned powerful, because Grian 'tis so powerful.

   𝐼 𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙 ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 ℎ𝑖𝑔ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑘.

   "𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑'𝑣𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐴𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑠' 𝑜𝑤𝑛."

   ℜeserras hums to himself, shifting slightly in the seat, sensing that 'tis all Grian wishes to say on his previous rider this morning. Though, he's noticed Grian never truly likes talking about Aeron.

   ℑt seems to pain him, and Res doesn't blame the dragon.

   ℑt took him four months until saying Raerion's name didn't immediately have him bursting into tears.

   𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦, 𝐺𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛.

"𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒," Grian soothes, his deep and rumbling tone kinder than it 'tis been all morning without his mate.

𝔅ehind Smachd and Tairn, Grian slips into a steep bank down the mountainsides and dives into a narrow valley between the snowy peaks. His tucks his golden-tinged wings in slightly, the tips scraping against the steep rocky walls and dislodging pebbles from the cliffside rising on either side of them.

𝔗he dragons soar through the ravine in single file, claws occasionally brushing over the glistening surface of the stream running through the gorge.

𝐼𝑠 𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑎'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛, 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙?

"𝑁𝑜. 𝐿𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑅𝑒𝑑 𝑆𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑝𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑙, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑡 𝐶𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑔ℎ'𝑠 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠."

𝔗he riot reaches the edge of the ravine and Grian flaps his wings as they float out of the crevice, soaring above the mountains once again within seconds.

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠, 𝐵𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑜𝑖𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑀𝑎́𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑠?

"𝐴𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘, 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡." Reserras scoffs, but a smile tugs at his lips nonetheless. "𝑌𝑒𝑠."

ℌis chest rumbles with a curious hum, absorbing the information. He's beyond grateful, though, that Grian trusts him enough to tell him these things. It makes him feel closer to his dragons–𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠.

ℌe knows they saw his entire life the moment they bonded him on Threshing night–for the dragons could see their riders' memories the moment they bond, but he knew nothing about them aside from the general knowledge Professor Kaori told them in Dragon Lecture.

𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑎 𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝔅eneath him, Grian chuffs, "𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑–𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒. 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒."

ℜeserras sighs through his nose, hoping Grian 'tis right and that someday his she-dragon 'twouldn't be so damned testy and mistrusting of him.

𝔄fter another hour of steep dives and sharp turns out of dizzying spirals, Smachd lands upon the flight field and all the other dragons follow. The ground quakes beneath all of the dragons of Fourth Wing landing and Reserras lowers his flight goggles once Grian's golden claws meet the dull green grass, blowing away a stray strand of silver hair that fell loose from the braid he wove haphazardly after morning formation.

   𝔗he moment his boots touch the ground after he dismounts, Grian unfurls his wings and flies off for the Vale, no doubt–𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

ℌe hardly controlled himself the moment he saw Xaden again after two years apart.

𝔘nraveling his braided hair, Res chuckles to himself. Whilst trekking down the stone steps carved into the cliffside to the citadel, Liam finds him amidst the crowd.

"Is it just me, Res, or does Grian deliberately outdo Smachd's basic maneuvers?"

"War training, I think he calls it," Reserras mirrors his foster-brother's smirk.

𝔏iam snickers.

𝔚alking through the rotunda toward the academic hall, gilded rays of sunlight beaming through the glass ceiling as the bells toll across the ravine, shadows swirl around his wrists and ankles and tug, desperately.

ℜes slows his pace within the bustling crowd, telling Liam he'd meet him in the lecture hall, before he turns and meets his shadow within the claws of the chiseled blue dragon–𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑡, 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑠.

𝔗he rippling shadows conceal them from prying eyes the moment he steps between the claws–the marble reflecting the pale gold light.

𝔄nd the second, the fucking second, they 'twere hidden within the shadows, calloused yet soft hands are on Res' lithe waist and pulling him as close as all the physical boundaries of the world 'twould allow, their lips crashing into a passionate kiss.

ℌis chest rumbles with a pleased hum, flattening his gloved hands on Xaden's cheeks to bring the ethereal man closer to him, fucking giggling into the kiss.

𝐺𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒, 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑥ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

ℌands comb through his long hair cascading down his back, sending delightful shivers down his spine. 𝐵𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛.

𝔚hen Reserras pulls away to greedily suck air into his burning lungs, hollow cheeks flushed, Xaden surges forward to return his lips to their rightful place once again, but Res chuckles.

"We have Battle Brief in like ten minutes, my Xaden."

MyMyMy.

ℑt rings through Xaden's head, traversing straight to his throbbing cock.

"I don't care."

"Neither do I, but I'd rather not suffer the consequences of skipping class."

𝔖omewhere within the depths of his sensible mind, Xaden knows Reserras 'tis right, but he doesn't want to be separated from the man before him–𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔–not even for a second.

ℌe craves to be wrapped in his skin and bones, for eternity.

𝔅ut... Xaden sighs, he can't. He knows he couldn't. And it hurts.

ℜeserras, so gently and sweetly, brushes a strand of his black, windblown hair from his head, kissing it with those soft and sunlit lips of his. "Just one minute."

𝔗hose beautiful onyx orbs speckled with gold seem to both darken with lust and soften with fondness at the same time, as a smirk curls his so fucking desirable lips.

"One minute," he promises.

𝔄nd gods, the things Xaden Riorson could do in a single minute...

༻*✽*༺

—𝕬fter several hours of Battle Brief and an entire session of, as Liam puts it, "eye-fucking" between Reserras and Xaden, a history test, brutal sparring that enlivened his restless blood, then dinner, Res walks into his room, chucks his satchel onto the desk and plops onto the bed with a huff, bouncing slightly.

   𝔗hough, even with a full stomach after a tiresome day, sleep 'twould not find Reserras.

   ℌe studies at his desk for hours under flickering mage light whilst a light rainfall patters against the windows, twirling his mother's dagger between his fingers.

   ℭlosing the fifth book he's read through tonight, Reserras expels a long breath as he sinks into the cushioned chair. Suddenly, he feels stuffy and restless, and thus stands to grab his daggers from the weapons rack, deciding on leaving his twin blades and dragonscale armor behind.

𝔊rian's disgruntled growl echoes through his mind, "𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑟."

ℜes huffs, throwing his cloak around his shoulders, 𝐼𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛, 𝐼'𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑙. 𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠, 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑛.

"𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑃𝑢𝑡. 𝐼𝑡. 𝑂𝑛."

𝔗ugging the hood over his head, Reserras walks over to the door, 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟, turns the knob and peaks out into the darkened hallway–empty.

"𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒," Grian growls.

ℜes, though–perhaps stupidly, perhaps he 'twill regret it later–ignores his dragon's wisdom and sneaks through the quiet halls with a stealth akin to a feline to the hidden tunnel Xaden'd shown him over a week ago, then makes his way onto the flight field looming over the citadel.

𝔗he breeze tousles the hood of his cloak when Res steps through the disguised door into the cold, moonlit night. Trekking into the thicket of trees on the other side of the box canyon upon the steep cliff, something settles deep within his gut–a sense of foreboding, wariness.

   𝔓erhaps he should've listened to Grian and just put the damned armor on, or perhaps he should've gone to Xaden's room to settle his restlessness.

   𝔖hoving the hood of his cloak down with a sigh through his nose–his pearlescent locks shimmering beneath the beams of the moon peering through the trees–Res continues onwards through the foliage nonetheless.

   𝔈ver since a child, he's done this whenever he couldn't sleep–in his home and then Duke Lindell's manse–except here there 'tis no garden to walk through. Only an autumn forest with chirping crickets and crystalline droplets of rain trickling onto the grass and slinking down the branches and trunks of trees.

   𝔚ithin a small valley amidst the towering trees, revealing the moon perched amidst her garden of stars high above, Reserras stops in the very center and takes a deep breath, breathing the crisp air as November approaches.

   𝔅asking in the silvery moonlight as cold droplets sprinkle onto his cheeks and soak his hair, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back, listening to the singing of the birds and crickets, the wind whispering all of its hidden secrets, even the distant roars of dragons echoing from the Vale beyond.

   𝔅ut then, a twig breaks. His eyes snap open, that 'twasn't a natural sound of the forest.

   𝔖liding his mother's topaz-dagger into his palm as he unsheathes another from his thigh, Reserras twirls the glinting steel weapons within his unwavering grasp, gripping their leather hilts.

   ℌis heartbeat rings in his ears, pounding within its cage of ribs, but his breathing remains unperturbed, steady, as the cool breeze caresses his cheeks.

   𝔇ry leaves crunch, crunch, crunch, growing louder and louder with every second... someone's coming. He listens more closely, no... people are coming.

   "𝐼'𝑚 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦. 𝑇𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠. 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑆𝑔𝑎𝑒𝑦𝑙." Grian's voice 'tis like a sudden shout amidst the silence in Reserras' attuned mind, but his dark brows crease, why would he tell Sgaeyl?

   '𝔗is not like his death 'twould affect Sgaeyl as Xaden's would, or perhaps even Violet's own. Because if any of them die, it 'twould set off a chain of events, possibly ending with him loosing Xaden–𝑚𝑦 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛.

   "𝐹𝑜𝑐𝑢𝑠, 𝑅𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑠!"

   ℜeserras blinks, shaking the thought, and every other, away from his mind. Grian 'tis right, he couldn't become distracted amidst combat–not now, not ever.

   𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑. 𝑆𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ.

"There he is," comes an unfamiliar voice from the brush, interrupting the quietude of the forest only the gentle pattering of the rain and the chirping crickets dare to break.

𝔗hen, six of the forty something unbonded cadets emerge from the trees, droplets of rain dripping from the edges of their glimmering blades. Res supposes he must've been spotted by one of them in the halls and followed.

'𝔗is cowardly and pathetic to him, guessing they probably waited in the dormitory halls until he 'twere found alone to attack in the cover of night–𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.

ℌe scoffs, flourishing his daggers.

ℌe's not just the rider of Grianynevret and Folaguenell, he 'tis a marked one–the youngest son of the Betrayer's Dragon. Res has enemies he hasn't even met in the quadrant, all because his parents fought, and died, for something they believed in.

𝔉or trying to protect the Continent, the very people whom burned them and scattered their ashes to the fucking wind.

ℌis lip curls with a sneer, "Let me guess; you've come to murder me in hopes one of my dragons will instead bond one of you?" He scoffs, "Pathetic, really. As if they'd choose such cowards."

"You're scum!" The leader, he supposes–a guy he recognizes from Second Wing–snarls. "Just like your damned father! None of you marked fucks should've even made it past the parapet, let alone survived Threshing."

ℜeserras sneers again. He 'twas quite done with these egotistical people and their beliefs that all of those who bore a rebellion relic 'twere no more than the dirt on their boots because of their parents' "crimes".

𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑗𝑢𝑑𝑔𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒?

𝔑o one is. He deems.

"𝐷𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒." The soothing tone within Grian's rumbling voice distracts Res enough from his anger that it settles, if ever so slightly.

𝔒ne of the unbonded–another guy, from First Wing–slices his blade through the air with a whoosh, glaring eyes set upon Reserras, just like all the others.

   "𝐹𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦."

   ℜeserras falters for a split second, blinking. 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛? 𝐷𝑖𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑋𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑛? But his momentary distraction 'tis enough for the unbonded as they rush him all at once.

   𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑥, Res twirls his daggers with a smirk, 𝐼 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑑𝑑𝑠.

   𝔑ext thing he knows, Reserras 'tis dodging their ruthless blades in a flurry of agility and soaked silver hair, side-stepping away from numerous daggers and spinning beneath the vicious swings of swords, whilst nicking whatever bare skin of his enemies he could.

   𝔄 pained hiss slips from his lips, curling with an aggravated sneer, when the edge of a dagger nicks his unscathed cheek, only to then shout in anguish when the scrawny guy from Second Wing slices his sword across his left side–𝑢𝑔ℎ, 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑'𝑣𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝐺𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛.

   "𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑒."

   𝔄nd not a second after, the shadows begin to bend and lean on the trees, twisting unnaturally with a thirst for vengeance, before they stream across the grass and curl around two of the cadets' necks, snapping them with a sickening crunch.

𝔄 smirk curls Res' once sneering lips, heaving a breath as crystalline droplets of rain intermingle with the thick blood painting his chiseled features in bright red swishes and swirls, twirling his daggers between his fingers.

𝔚ith wide, and dread-filled, eyes, the remaining unbonded fall still, staring at the cadets' bodies–their necks bent in horrible positions, with white bones protruding from their skin.

"Their deaths were quick. Yours will not be."

𝔗he wielder of those menacing shadows, Xaden Riorson, emerges from the rippling darkness, his onyx depths like the sky above shinning with a bloodthirsty malice, promising retribution for the blood his Reserras split tonight–𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒!

𝔄nd, in this moment, in this alcove, Reserras knows now–why Xaden Riorson 'tis the most feared rider in the quadrant, perhaps the entire college–because he sees, and his loins stir with desire.

   𝔄 clap of thunder resounds throughout the sky the second before a guttural roar with the might to scare away entire drifts of gryphons shakes the wet earth beneath their very feet.

𝔚ings tucked into his sides, Grian dives from the dark grey clouds, reaching the alcove within seconds. He extends his nearly translucent wings the moment before he lands behind Res, roaring so loud all of Navarre might have heard him.

𝔗he colossal white dragon stands with his rider between his forelegs, golden claws digging into the dirt with his wings still outstretched–the flakes of gold glittering beneath the luminescent moonlight.

"𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒!" He nearly echoes the words he spoke at Threshing, and Reserras' smirk widens ever so slightly.

   𝔗he rain trickling down from the sky evaporates in pale wisps of steam from the dragon's white scales, the spikes rippling down his neck trembling with his low growls, black fangs exposed hungrily.

   𝔗he unbonded scramble, dropping their weapons to the dewy grass, desperate to get away from the gigantic dragon growling so fiercely at them, but the shadows of the forest enclose around their wrists and ankles like shackles, keeping all four in place.

   𝔄 macabre crunch resounds through the wet air as the wrist of one of the cadet's 'tis snapped in half, and she screams in agony–a pale bone sticking out from her skin as the sword she still held clatters to the ground.

   𝔅ehind the cadets–lined up side by side, several feet in front of the growling dragon–holding them with the shadows, Xaden sneers. 𝐶𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚.

   𝔊rian lowers his head until it hovers above Reserras–his guttural growls rattling his bones–as his pale gold eyes all but glow with wrath as he awaits.

   ℜeserras' chest rumbles with a hum, watching the breeches of the arrogant cadet from Second Wing darken, continuing down the length of his legs, with a malicious smirk. Utter terror fill their once hateful eyes, and he relishes in it.

   "Die now in terror," he whispers softly, yet there 'tis pure malice in those brisk eyes.

𝔊rian puffs out his chest with a chuff, rising to his full height that towers above the trees as smoke arises from his flared nostrils, then... he lunges.

ℌis needle-like teeth clamp around the cadet to the farthest left–the guy from First Wing–and rips his arm cleanly from his shoulder, deliberately slowly despite his monstrous size, before devouring him whole in seven bites.

𝔖creams of sheer terror and agony echo through the entire forest that night, birds taking to the air in fright as even the crickets fall silent, the world holding its breath.

𝔗he girl with the shattered wrist 'twere caught between the dragon's maw and another girl as Grian tore them apart, the sickening sounds of gore filling their ears. And the guy from Second Wing could only watch as the others 'twere devoured by the ruthless White Speartail.

𝔄ll of the arrogance and hatred he once held within his gaze now gone completely as horror-filled tremors shook his entire frame, held down by the unyielding shadows.

𝔄nd the last thing he 'twould ever see is the vengeful golden eyes of Reserras Atonal's dragon.

𝔗hick blood blankets the grass, its iron smell filling the damp air.

𝔗he shadows dissipate, returning to their natural state amidst the clearing, as if they 'twere never there at all. Grian's spiked tail swishes in agitation, his talons curling on the grass as gore drips from his bloodied maw.

ℜeserras' shoulders slump with a breath, sheathing his daggers.

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

"𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒."

𝔚ith rain dripping from his soaked nightblack hair, Xaden crosses the distance between him and his Ressy. And Res only now notices that Xaden 'tis completely shirtless, as if he left the second Sgaeyl told him.

   𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑜𝑛.

   ℌis gold-speckled eyes roam over Reserras' lithe body, looking for any wounds as they stand inches apart, only discovering the cut on his cheek and the slash on his left side–where his armor should be protecting him.

   𝔅ut he doesn't want to reprimand him, not now. Res isn't stupid, he doesn't make the same mistakes twice–𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠.

   𝔗he blood leaking from his beloved's porcelain skin reignites the inferno within his heart, and Xaden finds himself wishing those unbonded shits had suffered longer for making what is his bleed.

   𝔙elvet shadows slither up Reserras' legs to caress his throbbing cheek, winding around his waist and gently squeezing to stem the steady flow of blood. "You're leaking," he whispers.

   𝔅reathlessly, Res nods, his stormy-grey eyes glancing between those onyx depths and soft lips he loves so much. The space between them closes and closes, but now, with his mind as clear as ever since Threshing night, Res wonders aloud, "What are we?"

   𝔗here had been so many things spinning a violent maelstrom in his mind since Threshing; Being chosen by Grianynevret and Folaguenell, living in constant vigilance beyond the wards of his room nearly every day since, Violet Sorrengail's life becoming tethered to Xaden's until the day they die, then Threshing night... he kissed the man he's been in love with for... 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟, 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦.

   𝔄nd yet... Reserras still doesn't know what they are now. He knows what Xaden means to him, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, and he knows what he means to his great love, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑒? 

   ℌe needs to know.

   "Xaden." Their gazes collide, those onyx orbs dancing between the milky eye that sees nothing and the brisk iris that could always see straight through him and that indifferent mask he's since perfected.

   𝔉irmly latching his hands around Res' waist–wary not to touch the wound–Xaden pulls his Reserras into him, then growls, "You're my gravity." Res looses his breath. "Nothing in my world works without you."

   "Gravity," he whispers, breathless.

   "The one force we can never escape." Xaden brushes his lips against Reserras', tasting the sweet air he breathes. "You're capable of hurting me in ways I'm not sure you've even begun to fathom, Reserras Atonal. I might be skilled enough to land a death blow, but you alone have the power to fucking destroy me."

   𝔚ithout wasting another second, they close the minuscule space left between them to meet in a kiss. Res' chest rumbles with a delighted hum, gods, he will never grow old of Xaden's honeyed taste–mint, dewy rain, and the sweet promise of a future together.

𝔅reaking apart only to seep air into their lungs, Reserras' lashes flutter. "You are divine, my shadow." And Xaden, drunk off the taste of Reserras, emits a husky chuckle, echoing his words, "'My shadow'?"

ℜes all but feels the hum that rumbles through his chest and vibrates his bones as Xaden's lips curl with a devious smirk. "Well," a huff of amusement, "if I'm your shadow, then that makes you my sunlight."

𝔗hey pull each other into another kiss, and those of shadows and sunlight loose themselves in the moonlit moment, in their sweet taste.

   𝔊rain, still hovering possessively over his rider, chuffs, surveying the forest surrounding them for any other threats for a moment before he spreads his wings and returns to the Vale where his mate awaits, leaving the hormonal humans to themselves.

__________•༻*✽*༺•__________

༻ 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 ༺

Res and Xaden having a tender moment and Grian's like, "Eck, nasty human hormones.", 😆, they're my favorites.

Next chpt gonna be angsty, 🫠.