•𝟔.𝟑𝐊•

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

꧁•𖢻•༻*✽*༺•𖢻•꧂

     𝕿angled beneath the sheets in the gilded hue of the early morning before the bells toll, Reserras and Xaden lounge together, limbs woven like vines, upon the older rider's bed with joy rippling through their hearts and smiles dancing on their lips.

   "Axe of morningstar?" Xaden asks, continuing the game the young lovers'd been playing for the past five minutes now, tracing random shapes on Res' waist as his man molds himself into his side.

   𝔚ith a hum Xaden could feel rumble through his chest, Res contemplates the question for a moment as he listens to the delicate thump, thump, thump of his shadow's strong heart beneath his ear, "Mm, morningstar. Vanilla or chocolate?"

   𝔘tterly incredulous, Xaden scoffs, and Res snorts. "Chocolate obviously," he playfully pinches Res' ribs, whom squirms with a yelp, "how is that even a question?"

   𝔖oft laughter spills from Res' smiling lips, pouring warmth like the sun beaming through the windows and even more love–if thought possible–into Xaden's being.

   ℌe chuckles, kissing his Ressy's crown of silver. "Lilacs or lilies?" He asks.

   "Lilacs," Res grins. His mother had been named after the beautiful flower that grew in the fields surrounding her childhood village, they 'twill always be Reserras' favorite.

"Grian or Tairn?"

𝔚ith a snicker, "Do you mean whose more terrifying?" Xaden quirks a brow.

"Sure," Res chuckles.

"Then," Xaden sucks his teeth, 'tis truly a tough choice there as the old war dragons 'twere both equally terrifying in their own way, "Grian. Sgaeyl or Fola?"

"𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠," Sgaeyl grumbles, her voice resonating in his mind. "𝑇𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑦."

"Sgaeyl says you'd better choose wisely, Ressy."

𝔖hifting slightly, Reserras feigns a shiver of terror in Xaden's arms, a devious smirk curling the edges of his soft lips, "Oh? Well then I must choose... Fola."

𝔗he she-dragon snarls something in dragon-ish, yet Sgaeyl 'tweren't so surprised–𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑎 𝑖𝑠 𝑅𝑒𝑠' 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙, 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑙𝑙, an amused grin tugs at Xaden's lips.

"Infantry or scribe?" Res asks.

"Infantry. I couldn't stand to wear those hideous robes all day. No offense to Elssy, of course."

   "I'd pay to see you in scribe robes."

   ℌis great love huffs a disgruntled breath, a smile dancing on his lips as he flicks the tip of his nose, "Same."

"Fuck no," Res grimaces.

𝔐ischief gleams within Xaden's onyx depths, "Liam or Raelon?"

   ℜes gasps, propping himself up onto his elbow, gawking at his lover. Xaden only quirks his scarred brow, smirking without an ounce of shame.  "You cruel, cruel bastard."

   "You must choose, sweet Ressa," he sing-songs.

   𝔄n aggrieved pout presses Res' soft lips together, 𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦, and he rolls his eyes. "... Raelon," he grumbles, twisting around in Xaden's hold to lay his chin atop his bare chest.

   ℭhuckling softly, Xaden so tenderly, so sweetly, tucks a tendril of shimmering pearlescent behind his Ressy's ear and flattens his palm on his scarred cheek, the soft pad of his thumb tracing his high cheekbone as he gazes at his sunlight so lovingly, so adoringly. Yet, those pale blue eyes staring up at him glimmer with a silent promise of retribution as a devious smirk curls those addicting lips of his. "Bodhi or Garrick?"

   "Ruthless Ressy," he grins. "Bodhi."

   ℜeserras chuckles, "Only because he teases you less."

   "Lemon lush or apple and blueberry tarts?"

   "Uh, lemon lush, without question."

   𝔄cross the ravine, the Basgiath bells ring, echoing throughout the halls of the citadel beginning to bustle with riders walking through the twisting and winding corridors to the gathering hall for breakfast.

   "Alright, last round; Battle Brief or Dragonkind?"

   "Battle Brief, because I get to see you the entire time."

   ℜeserras pretends his belly 'tweren't stirring with thinly veiled desire and his heart didn't begin to flutter erratically within his chest. "Shameless fucking flirt," he murmurs with a smile.

   𝔖nickering, "Only for you, Ressa," Xaden then shifts their positions until he 'twere looming over his Ressy–hands on either side of his head–leaning down to kiss Res' neck, feeling the fluttering beat of his heart against his soft lips.

   "Mm," he feigns contemplation whilst tracing the warmth of his lips over the porcelain skin of Res' neck, before nibbling on the ivory softness pulsing with such sunlit warmth he loves so much then sucking–marking his Reserras where anyone 'twould see–"dragons or gryphons?" He whispers, smirking when Reserras shivers.

   "Dragons, obviously," Res scoffs. "Was that even a question?"

   𝔓ressing his lips against his mark upon his man's skin with a chuckle, Xaden then lifts his mouth from Res' neck only to claim those sweet lips in a searing kiss–blossoming with lust and love.

   𝔅y the Gods, he could spend an eternity tasting Reserras Atonal's nectar, only existing amidst his skin and bones–𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘, 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜, 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡ℎ, ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

   ℜeserras hums so deliciously into the embrace, winding his arms around his man's neck to tug him ever closer–fingers combing through his black hair–whilst hooking a leg still tangled midst the sheets around Xaden's own.

   𝔚hilst seeking entrance into Reserras' mouth with the tip of his tongue, Xaden's knee slides across the sheets until it collides with the bulge in Res' loose trousers–hard, and wanting.

   ℜeserras gasps against his lips, and Xaden wastes not a second to breach his mouth with his tongue, savoring his Ressy's so sweet, so intoxicating, taste like berry wine.

   𝔗heir wet and warm tongues clash in a battle for dominance, Res' nails scratching Xaden's scalp as they tug at his windswept strands as Xaden's own dig into the pale skin of his lithe waist.

𝔗hey devour each other, they claim each other like predators.

𝔘ntil oxygen 'twere needed lest they suffocate and they pull apart with a wet pop, panting heavily against each others' glistening lips. Greedily, Xaden kisses his Ressy once more, licking away the mixture of their saliva lingering on their lips–tasting them.

'𝔗is delicious, 'tis enough to sate his desires... for now.

"Ressy," he breathes. "I love you."

ℜeserras blinks. Theirs 'tis a relationship where words 'twere hardly ever a necessity, he knows he loves Xaden Riorson and he knows said love 'tis returned, and yet... they've never said those three words.

𝔄nd it fills his heart with joy to hear them from his great love, his life, his... everything, a jubilant and love sick smile blooming on his lips. "I love you, too," he whispers.

𝔛aden smiles, truly, so fucking beautifully smiles, in return, lowering his lips upon Reserras' once again, but this time, 'twere a chaste, slow and sweet, kiss–a silent proclamation of his undying, unyielding, love for Reserras Atonal, and him alone.

   𝔗he cacophony of steadily rising chatter rippling through the hall beyond the door as riders leave their dorms to saunter down to breakfast interrupts the heavenly moment between the young men.

   "We should go," Reserras whispers against his lips, 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡.

   𝔚ith reluctance in their hearts, slowing their movements, they untangle themselves from each others' limbs and the sheets to dress in their black leathers and tuck their blades within their proper sheathes.

   "Come here," Xaden says after tucking the last of his daggers in his boot, patting the cushioned chair of the desk. "I'll do your hair."

   𝔖mirking, Res quirks a brow, "Oh," he tilts his head, "can't get enough, can you?"

   ℌe chuckles, "Never."

   𝔖haking his head in amusement, Res sits himself on the chair and resists the urge to shiver when his man's fingers comb through the pearlescent strands because, by Gods, does he love when Xaden Riorson touches his long hair–whether to brush it in the morning or braid it at night, or just to mess with it, he doesn't care.

   "I fucking love your hair," Xaden tells him, beginning to style the strands, smooth like the most expensive silk and soft like flower petals between his fingers. "If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I'll get the point."

   ℜeserras hums in delight, relishing in the gentle touch of his devoted lover, "I'll be sure to remember that."

   𝔛aden pulls back strands of his hair into a "half-up, half-down" style, with the top-half of his hair tied into a bun whilst the rest cascades down his back like dripped starlight, catching in the sunlight.

   𝔅y the Gods, this man 'tis a gift from the gods, themselves... or perhaps his downfall sent by Amari.

   𝔗he style frames his beautifully chiseled features he knows must've been carved by the loving hands of Loial and Dunne, and Xaden just couldn't help himself, sweeping his hair over his shoulder to kiss the soft skin of his Ressy's neck, once, twice, thrice, until Reserras 'tis swatting him away with a chuckle.

   "Keep that up, you fiend, and we'll never leave this room."

   "Mm," he feels the mischief of Xaden's smirk on his skin, "maybe that's the point, Ressy." The warmth of his breath sending tingles down his spine, and this time, Reserras couldn't withhold a shiver.

   𝔖nickering, Xaden kisses the mark of his love he left upon his Ressy's skin, before straightening. "Let's go, before I decide to keep you all to myself today."

   ℜeserras grumbles something about "shameless tease," in Tyrrish, only to the amusement of Xaden, as he stands, flicking his hair over his shoulder.

   ℌearing nothing but the silence of the hall outside the door, they leave the warmth of Xaden's room behind, though, not before Xaden stole one last kiss, stepping into the empty hall where only the clicks of their boots on the floor fill the silence as they walk down to the gathering hall.

   𝔗hough, turning the corner toward the rotunda, immense incredible hunger suddenly strikes Res, his stomach gnawing on emptiness that demands to be appeased with the blood of –

   "Ressy?" Xaden looks over at him leaning against the wall for support, concern etched between his brows.

   "Grian and Fola are awake," he manages to say, eyes squeezed shut and clutching his stomach like he's the one who craves entire flocks of sheep. Or goats. Or whatever the hell they decide for the morning.

   𝐵𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐺𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝑔𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

   "𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢," Fola snarls.

   𝑀𝑦, 𝑚𝑦, 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛, 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛'𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

   𝔗he hunger dissipates, and he knows it's because they're dampening the bonds in that moment, because he can't. Their emotions only flow into him when they override their control.

   ℌe wonders when they'll begin to channel into him, so he doesn't suffer mornings like this any longer.

   𝔅eing chosen by two dragons 'tis... extraordinary, it makes him feel powerful, honored, but sometimes, in moments like these where he couldn't shield himself from their emotions, he considers it a curse, for he feels the hunger of not one but two dragons.

   ℌe doubts the others, aside from Violet, go through mornings with a stomach gnawing away at itself, craving the gore of freshly slaughtered livestock, the grotesque taste of charred meat all but flooding his tongue.

   ℜes shudders at the memory of his first taste of his dragons' morning hungers, rushing to the nearest washroom to expel the contents of his stomach.

   𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢.

   "Does it ever get any easier?" Reserras asks Xaden, pushing himself from the wall as they continue down the hall into the rotunda. "Being tackled by what they're feeling?"

   𝔄 grimace crosses Xaden's features bathed in the gilded sunlight dripping through the glass roof above them as they cross through the rotunda then up the stairs into the commons. "Sgaeyl controls herself well enough, but when she's angry?" He shakes his head.

   "More than usual?" Res smirks, wiggling his brows, and Xaden nudges his shoulder with a snicker.

   "It'll get easier once they start channeling and you have the power to shield them out." Xaden quirks his scarred brow at him as they pass the study tables, "They haven't channeled to you yet?"

   ℜes shakes his head, "I think Grian wants too, he's just.. hesitating. And Fola... Fuck, I'll never know with her."

   "𝐼 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡."

   𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑.

   𝔄nother wave of paralyzing hunger strikes him, seeping the strength from his legs all to suddenly. "Oh, shit." And Res would've crumbled down to the floor if not for Xaden's arms instinctively supporting him.

   ℌe swears he hears Grian and Fola chortle.

   "We'd better hurry along and get you to breakfast."

   "Great idea."

༻*✽*༺

     —𝕷ater that afternoon, Reserras and his squad weave their way through the crowd of cadets on their way to Battle Brief only to be intercepted by first-years pouring out of the stairwell of the turret that leads up to Professor Carr's classroom, further clogging the hallway to the lecture hall.

   "I want to be like the cool kids," Rhi grumbles.

   "We will," Violet smiles, linking her arm through Rhiannon's.

   𝔒bserving the manifested riders walking by as his ears ring with the cacophony of chatter bouncing off the walls, even Reserras must admit to himself that there's a festering twinge of jealousy in his chest.

   𝔗he relics on his back tingles, and Res finds himself wondering, and not for the first time, when his dragons will channel into him, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟?

   "You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!" Ridoc tosses his arm over Reserras' shoulders, smirking like an idiot. Res chuckles at him.

   "She's talking about everyone who's already channeling," Violet explains, struggling with the books in her arms. Though, upon noticing this, Liam doesn't hesitate to relieve her from her pile of books so she doesn't drop them.

   𝔅ehind them, Res and Sawyer share a devious grin. 

   "Though at least if we're not channeling, we're not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us," she continues.

"Oh, I thought we were discussing how I just owned that physics test." Ridoc grins. "Definitely the highest score in the class."

ℜhiannon rolls her eyes. "Please. I scored five points higher than you."

"We stopped counting your grades months ago," he leans forward slightly. "Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us. Res', too, he passes every test in every class."

ℜeserras scoffs in amusement, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder.

𝔗hen, with a crease between his brows, Ridoc looks over at Liam, "Wait. What did you get, Mairi?"

"Not getting into the middle of this," Liam responds without even looking at the wise-ass, and Violet laughs as they enter the bottleneck of cadets to get into the briefing room.

"Sorry, Atonal," someone says, all but scurrying out of the way whilst tugging their friend along with them as he and his squad enter the tiered classroom.

"I'm never going to get used to that," Reserras grumbles.

"It definitely makes getting places easier," Rhi throws a teasing smirk over her shoulder as they descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.

"𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒," Fola hisses.

𝑇𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 𝑎𝑚, 𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑎, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝐼 𝑎𝑚. 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ.

𝔗he she-dragon chuffs in approval.

𝔄mong the first-years' section, they find their usual row and shuffle toward their seats, settling into the wooden desks as a squad with Liam now to Res' blind side and Ridoc on his right, with the other three in front of them.

   𝔗he lecture hall bustles with energy as riders file in through the door, and Reserras has since noticed that the third-years needn't stand along the walls any longer.

   𝔗he number of empty chairs 'tis sobering, having decreased exponentially in the last four months.

   𝔉ourth Wing lost another rider the day before when he got a little too close to another's Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was standing there, and the next... ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ.

   ℜeserras had kept quite close to Grian and Fola for the rest of the session.

   𝔗hose velvety, smoky tendrils swirl around his ankles, but Reserras resists the urge to turn around as he opens his notebook to the next empty page and dips his quill into his portable inkpot to write down the date.

   ℌe withholds a sigh whilst flicking some stray ink off the tip of his finger, just another reason to hope one of his dragons channel soon–to power those easy, mess-less pens some of the others could already use.

   𝔑o more quills.

   𝔑o more inkpots.

   "Riorson just got here," Liam tells them, breaking from the little dragon figurine he's been carving since breakfast–ℎ𝑒'𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚–and lifting his gaze toward the rows for third-years.

   "Figured," Violet grumbles, holding up her middle finger and keeping her eyes forward.

   𝔏iam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. "And now he's glaring. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant?"

   𝔖he shrugs with a little smirk, "You could try it yourself and find out."

   "That's going to be a no from me," he chuckles.

   ℜes snorts beneath his breath, fiddling with his feathered quill. A thin tendril separates itself from the inky-black mass engulfing his legs beneath the desk and swirls around his arms, curiously, almost... playfully.

   𝔏ike a dragonfly–swaying through the breeze in a delicate dance only it's heart could sing, above the glittering surface of a winding river beneath the warmth of the summer sun. 

   ℌe grins to himself, indulging his shadow as he weaves his fingers through the velvet darkness as if he 'twere holding Xaden's hand. The little shadow curls around his hand, squeezing gently.

   ℌis silvery hair slides over his spiked shoulder when Reserras looks over it.

   𝔗here he is, in all his lethal-beautiful glory. Xaden is seated in the top row next to Garrick, mastering the art of looking bored. Though, when he meets Res' gaze, his onyx depths soften and even with the distance between them, Res could see the slight twitch of a grin on his lips as the shadows squeeze once again.

   ℌe returns it, then turns around again.

   𝐺𝑜𝑑𝑠, 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

   ℜesting her chin on her palm, Violet's hazel gaze curiously traces the movements of Liam's hands as he concentrates on his carving, which resembles Deigh, she notes–his Red Daggertail.

   "I swear, you'd think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me," she shakes her head.

   "In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you." Rhiannon sets out her supplies.

   "One time! It's happened one time, Rhi! Res, here," she points back at him–sitting behind her, as always, "has fought off three attempts now."

   ℜeserras scoffs in amusement, "Don't bring me into this, Sorrengail."

   𝔖he huffs at him, blowing a raspberry. He just chuckles, shaking his head, "So mature."

   "And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?" Rhi asks.

   "Threshing," Violet shrugs.

   "And Barlowe's constant threats?" She arches a brow at her.

   "She has a point there," Sawyer chimes in from the seat on Violet's other side.

   "They're just threats. The only time I've actually been targeted was at night, and it's not like Liam is sleeping in my bedroom."

   "I mean, I'm not opposed – " he begins, his knife hovering over the piece of wood.

"Don't even start," she whips her head to face him, laughing. "You are a shameless flirt."

"Thank you," he grins then goes back to whittling.

𝔖he just rolls her eyes at him with a little grin, yet Violet couldn't help the flush of heat from sweeping through her veins and warming her pale cheeks.

"Don't mind her, she's just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby."

ℜes coughs with a blink, shifting slightly in the creaky, wooden seat. He fumbles with his quill and it tumbles to the ground with a soft clatter, he mutters a curse, though, before he could lean over, the shadows engulfing his legs beneath the desk reach out and lift the feathered quill like an offering.

ℌe plucks it out of the rippling darkness with a grin then glances over his shoulder at Xaden–he's locked in conversation with Garrick, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒, 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦.

𝔗he thought has his heart fluttering madly in his chest.

"That has nothing to do with it." A flush of embarrassment fills Violet's cheeks.

"And yet I don't hear you denying it," Rhi smiles sweetly at her.

"Oh?" Liam quirks a brow with a mischievous smirk. "Well, I'm sure Riorson wouldn't mind my reviewing a couple candidates, especially if it means you'll stop flipping him off in front of his entire wing."

"And how exactly would you be reviewing candidates? What will you be scoring?" Rhiannon asks, folding her arms atop her desk with one brow raised above her wide grin. "This I have to hear."

𝔉or all of two seconds, Violet holds a straight face before laughing at how horrified Liam suddenly looks. "Thanks for the offer, though. I'll be sure to run any potential liaisons by you."

"I mean, you could watch," Rhi continues, blinking innocently at him. "Just to be sure she's fully covered. You know, so no one... sticks it to her."

"Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?" Ridoc speaks up from Res' side, leaning forward in his seat. "Because my entire life has led up to this very moment."

𝔄ll of Second Squad, even Reserras, bursts into laughter, turning a few heads their way.

"Fuck me," Liam mutters under his breath. "I'm just saying that since you're protected at night now – " they laugh harder, and he blows out a deep breath of annoyance.

   "Wait." Violet's laughter stops. "What do you mean I'm protected at night? Because you're next door?" Her smile vanishes. "Please don't tell me he's making you sleep in the hallway or something obnoxious."

   "No," he shakes his head, "Of course not. He warded your door after the attack." He observes the confusion creasing her brows. "I'm guessing he didn't tell you?"

   "He what?"

   "He warded your door," Liam says, quieter this time. "So only you can open it."

   "But if he's the one who warded it, then he can get in, too, right?"

   "Well, yeah," Liam shrugs, as Reserras notices Professor Devera and Markham entering the room and walking down the stairs toward the front. "But it's not like Riorson is going to kill you."

   "Right. You see, I'm still adjusting to that little change of heart."

   "If we can get started?" Markham's voice carries over the chattering riders as bushy brows rise over his stern eyes, and silence falls over the hall as the scribe places a scroll on the podium. "Excellent."

"First announcement," Devera says, stepping forward. "We've decided that not only will the winners of this year's Squad Battle receive bragging rights," an eager grin tilts the corner of her mouth, "they will also be given a trip to the front lines to shadow an active wing."

𝔄 resounding chorus of cheers breaks out amongst the riders, and Res glances at the others around him with a quirked brow, worrying for their sanity.

𝐼𝑡'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑟, in his opinion, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ, 𝐼 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝐵𝑎𝑠𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠.

"So if we win, we get a chance to die sooner?" Rhiannon whispers, mirroring his thoughts.

"Maybe they're trying a reverse psychology thing." Violet responds with a shrug.

"𝑆𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑑 𝐵𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝐼 𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑖𝑡. 𝐼𝑡'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒," Grian's deep and rumbling tone echoes through Reserras' mind.

"𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔." Fola agrees.

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠?

"𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑦, 𝑛𝑜. 𝑃𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛."

𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑.

𝔊rian chuffs. One day, Reserras may be able to translate that sound, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑎𝑦.

"I know the Squad Battle doesn't commence until spring," Devera continues to say, "but I figured that news would give you all the proper motivation to apply yourselves in every area leading up to the challenges."

𝔒nce again, cheers ripple through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls. Res shakes his head with a huff, playing with the shadows twisting and turning through his fingers, thin tendrils winding around the long digits.

"And now that we have your attention." Markham lifts his hand, silencing the room. "The front lines are relatively quiet today, so we're going to take this opportunity to dissect the Battle of Gianfar."

𝔗he shimmering mage lights rise to the Cliffs of Dralor marked on the mounted map that defend Res' homeland, Tyrrendor, from Poromiel's gryphons–for the black cliffs lift the province thousands of feet above the rest of the Continent–before shining brightest on the ancient stronghold along the southern border.

ℌe wonders if his father ever went there with his big red dragon, 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑙𝑦.

"This battle was pivotal to the unification of Navarre, Professor Markham continues, "and though it happened more than six centuries ago, there are important lessons that still impact our flight formations to this day."

𝔙iolet whispers something to Liam, but Reserras doesn't pay much attention to them–resting his cheek on his fist whilst half listening to the professors and half playing with the shadows.

"What made this battle unique?" Devera asks, her eyebrows raised. "Bryant?"

"The stronghold was not only set for a siege," the second-year says from high above the first-years, "but was equipped with the first cross-bolt, which proved lethal against dragonkind."

"Yes. And?" Devera prompts.

"It was one of the final battles where gryphons and dragons actually worked alongside each other to annihilate the army of the Barrens."

𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑠.

ℜeserras remembers learning all about the army of the Barrens, commanded by General Daramor in the dark years of the Great War in his youth.

𝔄fter the end of the war, dragons claimed the western lands of the Continent–Navarre–and gryphons the central ones–Poromiel–abandoning the Barrens and the memory of General Daramor. Allies sailed home to the Isle Kingdoms and Navarre began a period of peace and prosperity as the six provinces united for the first time behind the safety of the wards, under the protection of the first bonded riders.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛.

"Words of history every child aspiring to become a rider should know," his father told him.

"Now, pay close attention." Markham lectures the riders. "Because you'll be turning in a detailed report in three days and drawing comparisons to battles from the last twenty years."

ℜes withholds a groan, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑛, picking up his quill to write down as much as his hand 'twill allow for the remaining hour of Battle Brief.

༻*✽*༺

—𝖂hilst sun-drenched beams pour through the windows, the setting sun painting his chiseled features in a gilded and ethereal glow, Res sits at his desk in the hour after dinner with history tomes and parchment scattered in front of him as he works on the Battle Brief report.

   ℜesting his scarred cheek on his fist with a long breath, he flips through yet another book, marking the pages with battles that held any comparisons to the Battle of Gianfar.

   𝔅ut the words 'twere beginning to blur, morphing into one inky-black smudge on the creamy page, and Reserras sighs, slumping down in the cushioned chair as he drops his feathered quill onto the fifth page he 'twere currently filling, rubbing his nose.

𝔗hump, thump, thumping, an ache settles behind his blind eye, spreading across his temple with rippling throbs, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑠𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔.

   𝑈𝑔ℎ, 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐵𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓.

𝔄 chortle rumbles through his mind. "𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑛𝑣𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑠," Fola says.

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢?

"𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑒, 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟."

ℜes scoffs in amusement and stands from the chair with another breath, stretching his muscles–sore from sparring with both Liam and Rhiannon at the same time. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑛, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘, 𝑑𝑜 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤.

𝔄 familiar stirring flutters within his lower belly, 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, remembering the sheer lust within Xaden's onyx depths whilst he watched... 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟.

   "𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑎𝑛," Grian grumbles.

   ℭhuckling to himself, Reserras decides he 'twere too bored and didn't have enough tolerance left within him to finish the report, thus he grabs his jacket with those glinting silver spikes from the bed and throws it over his shoulders as he leaves.

   𝔗rekking through the twisting and winding corridors of the dormitory building and ascending two flights of stairs unto the third-floor–the second-years' floor–Res finds his brother's dorm in the hall for those whom hold roles of leadership in the quadrant and enters without bothering to knock, 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑒𝑠.

𝔅ut fuck, he wishes he had.

"Sweet fucking Malek, Raelon! I could've lived happily having never seen your dick hanging out."

𝔄mara fucking Sorrengail scrambles off the bed with a muttered, "Shit," rushing toward the pile of clothes on the floor, and Res, the gentleman, turns away until she 'twere fully clothed as Raelon tugs on a pair of loose trousers, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑.

"Well, there is such thing as knocking, Ressy."

ℜes scoffs to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head as if it 'twill dispel the sight of his brother shoved into the ass of Violet's sister from his mind, 𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑙𝑦, 𝑖𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡.

"Um, Reserras," Amara awkwardly shuffles her weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with her thumbs. He quirks a brow at her, humming in acknowledgment.

"Don't tell Violet about this, please."

ℌe hums, "Ashamed to be sleeping with my brother?"

ℜecognizing the look in his younger brother's eyes, Raelon huffs in amusement beneath his breath, joining Amara's side as her eyes widen. "No. He's great, really. I just... I haven't found a way to tell her yet, and I don't want her to hear it from anyone else. I mean, I'm not saying he's just some guy... I, ugh..."

ℜeserras chuckles, "I'm just fucking with you, Sorrengail. My lips are sealed."

𝔖heer relief floods through her system and slumps her shoulders as she expels a breath, "Thank you, Reserras." The first-year with steely, metallic silver hair–unlike her twin's, which is half brunette, half silver–kisses Raelon's cheek then trots out of the chambers, closing the door behind her.

𝔉olding his arms over his chest, Reserras meets his brother's azure eyes, whom just smirks.

"You're a fucking menace, you know that, right?"

   ℜaelon winks, "Oh, I know." His dragon relic from Marth shimmering in the last light of the fading day–stretching across his chest, the spiked tail coiling around his waist to his lower back.

𝔚ith a roll of his eyes, yet a grin tugging at the corner of his lips nonetheless, Reserras walks over to the desk and plops himself down on the chair with a breath, slumping with his legs spread.

𝔖itting on the edge of the bed, Raelon crosses a leg on his lap, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Res shrugs, "just got bored with writing reports and studying."

ℜaelon hums, "So are you eager for the Squad Battle?"

𝔗ilting his head, Res scoffs with a grin, "You are?"

"Eh," Raelon shrugs, "they were quite... exhilarating last year. Marth was so fucking vicious."

"It'll certainly be something to see Grian and Fola in action, I suppose. It'd be even better if they'd start channeling," he sighs.

   "All in good time, Ressy," Raelon tells him with that gentle grin of his. "They are both immensely powerful dragons, it'll be.. quite a shock to your body when they do decide to channel. I only hope they don't do so at the same time."

   "𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔," Grian grumbles, and Reserras withholds a grin as he nods. His brother is right. Grian is the most powerful dragon in the Vale, most likely one of the most powerful beings on the Continent.

   𝔚henever he channels, it 'twill certainly take his body, his mind, his soul, his entire being, time to adjust to such extraordinary power.

   "𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛𝑒."

   𝔗hump, thump, thump, the pounding behind the blind orb returns, and a groan rumbles through Res' throat as he presses his palm against his eye.

𝔑oticing this, the edges of Raelon's mouth droops with a frown, "Is it hurting?" He asks, his voice soft in the silence of his room. When Res nods so miserably, so in pain, with a hiss, agony encloses its fist around his heart and squeezes.

   𝔚ith the way his eye had been struck in his youth–the very tip of that sword, glinting menacingly in the moonlight, slicing itself across the orb–Res 'twould  suffer through migraines.

   𝔖ome 'twere only nuisances which could be soothed by ointments, 𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑛𝑎𝑝, whilst the worst 'twould render him bedbound for hours on end–agony ripping him apart, pulsing through the nerves in his eye.

   𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒.

   𝔖cooting backwards 'till he leans against the wooden headboard, Raelon beckons his brother over with a pat on the spot beside him. Seeking his brother's comfort, Res doesn't hesitate to join him, nestling himself against Raelon's side.

𝔐irroring the thing of comfort their mother 'twould do whenever her children sought her embrace, Raelon holds his brother close to him, winding an arm around Reserras' waist as he tucks his face into the crook of his neck, beginning to stroke his pinkie up and down his nose, repeatedly.

   𝔅reathing the scent of his brother, cinnamon and pine, with every breath he takes, listening to the gentle beat of Raelon's heart beneath his ear, Res' eyes trace the soothing movement of his finger–up and down, up then down–until his eyelids grow too heavy to keep open, long lashes resting delicately against his cheekbones.

'𝔗is a tranquil thing, to just exist with his brother beside him–to have no worries in the world.

𝔄nd he 'twere nearly on the cusp of sleep, when Raelon broke the serene silence, speaking softly, "Do you remember the night when we all gathered in the garden and Mom told us that story of the knight who died in battle, leaving his wife and unborn child behind?"

𝔄 thoughtful hum rumbles through Res' chest as he recalls the memory, then snorts, "Yeah. I remember crying at the end with Elssy and Naerya."

ℜaelon chuckles. "Raerion wouldn't stop laughing at you three."

"Not until Nessy whacked him upside the head."

𝔊entle laughter, like the sound of bell chimes on a cool summer's day, spills from Raelon's smiling lips, still rhythmically stroking his pinkie up and down Reserras' aquiline nose.

𝔗hough, the fondness from such a sweet memory from years past twists into melancholy, and Reserras' stormy-blue eyes flutter open. "I miss them," he murmurs.

ℜaelon plants a gentle kiss atop Res' silken locks, breathing the rosemary oils he uses, before he rests his chin on his head, expelling a soft breath. "Me too."

"𝑮𝒐 𝒅𝒕𝒊́ 𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒉, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒂́𝒊𝒓?" ( until the end, brother )

"𝑮𝒐 𝒅𝒕𝒊́ 𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒉," Raelon promises.

𝔖ilence envelopes the brothers for several minutes longer, content to simply exist with each other, 'til Res decides to voice the nagging curiosity swirling through him. "So, you and Amara, when the hell did that become a thing?"

   ℜaelon snorts. "It always has been, I suppose. I think I surprised her–I wasn't what she expected from the son of the Betrayer's Dragon. After challenges ended, she asked me to help her with training, and I did. She hasn't exactly been subtle, its adorable, really," he chuckles softly.

   𝑂ℎ, ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑥.

   "After I returned from..." He doesn't say, but Res knows without him needing too–𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, "Amara found me outside the infirmary, and.. the look on her face, I never expected to see such worry in her eyes, especially hers," he scoffs in amusement, "she refused to leave my side until I'd been mended and stitched up."

   "Well," Reserras hums, "I'm sorry I interrupted you both tonight, especially if it was your first time."

   "Oh, I assure you, it hasn't been."

   𝔄 grunt of sheer disgust falls from Res' lips, shifting slightly against his brother's side, "Ugh, I don't need to know." Raelon bursts into a soft bout of laughter, and Res found himself mirroring the contagious sound.

𝔒nce they settled down, Res asks, "Does anyone else know?"

   "I think Xaden does," he sighs. "I mean, he knows practically everything that goes on here, but I haven't told him. We haven't exactly had "the talk" yet."

   "Mm, so its more than sex to you?"

   "With her, yeah. She's.. she's different, not what you'd expect from General Sorrengail's daughter. She's compassionate, and a complete badass despite her condition."

   𝔏ifting his head from his brother's neck to meet his azure gaze, a snicker slips from Res' devious smirk, "Oh my Gods, you're so hopelessly in love."

   ℜaelon pinches his cheek, "Shut up. Like you can talk with you and Xaden always eye-fucking whenever the both of you are in the same room."

ℜeserras chuckles, shrugging without an ounce of shame, before he nestles himself against Raelon's side again, tucking his nose in the juncture of his neck, "I hope she feels the same way. But do tell Amara if she hurts you, I'll let my dragons decide who gets her."

ℜaelon kisses his head affectionately, "Hush." Yet he knew his brother spoke no lie, for nothing meant more to the Atonal siblings than each other.

__________•༻*✽*༺•__________

༻ 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 ༺

My loves, 🤧. I can't get enough of the fluff.