"The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such a threat to the wing to continue training."

—Major Afendra's Guide to the Riders Quadrant (Unauthorized Edition)

・❥・

The morning sun casts a piercing glare across the courtyard as we stand at attention in silent formation. Captain Fitzgibbons' voice rings out, solemn and commanding, as he reads from the death roll, flanked by two scribes on the dais. "Elena Sosa, Brayden Blackburn," he intones, each name a stark reminder of our perils.

Violet and I stand side by side, our hips touching ever so slightly, seeking what little warmth and comfort we can offer each other in the face of such grim news. Clad in rider black, we bear the marks of our newfound status—a single silver four-pointed star adorning my collarbone, the symbol of a first-year cadet, and a Fourth Wing patch emblazoned on my shoulder.

Only yesterday were we issued our standard uniforms: form-fitting tunics, pants, and accessories to withstand the summer heat. However, flight leathers were noticeably absent from our kits. There's no sense in distributing the more substantial, protective combat gear when half of us may not live to see Threshing in October.

My thoughts drift to the previous day's events—the awe-inspiring sight of the eight dragons and the disturbing voice of Sgaeyl that still echoes in my mind. "Because I won't leave you alone, Nightshade," she had said, causing me to jump out of my skin nearly.

Violet, ever observant, notices my unease and casts me a concerned look. "Is... something the matter?" she whispers, her voice tinged with worry.

I quickly shake my head, trying to brush off my disquiet. "No, no, I'm fine... just a bit jumpy after what happened yesterday," I confess, attempting a reassuring smile.

Violet nods in understanding, her eyes filled with empathy. "I get that," she hums softly, offering a gentle squeeze of my arm as we grapple with our unforgettable encounter's lingering impact.

Captain Fitzgibbons' voice reverberates through the courtyard, each name he utters etching itself into the solemn atmosphere. "Jace Sutherland... Dougal Luperco..." The scribes beside him shift uneasily as the list continues to unfurl.

We must be somewhere in the fifties by now, though I lost track of the exact count when Dylan's name was read aloud a few minutes ago. This fleeting moment of remembrance serves as the only memorial these fallen cadets will receive, their names spoken within the citadel for the last time. I strive to focus, to commit each name to memory as a testament to their sacrifice, but the sheer number of lost lives proves overwhelming.

The weight of the occasion settles heavily upon my shoulders, a stark reminder of the dangerous path we have chosen and the uncertain fate that awaits us all.

Sgaeyl's voice rings clear in my mind, offering an unwelcome distraction from the somber proceedings. "You'll get used to it, dear," she says, but I find the strength to respond, my courage bolstered by frustration. "Please don't talk right now," I snap back, attempting to regain focus.

Since our encounter yesterday, Sgaeyl's presence has lingered persistently in my thoughts, often interjecting with her commentary when least expected. I know she's been toying with me for some reason—even teasing me last night when I was trying to sleep.

And I can't help but notice how her interference has drawn Xaden closer to me. As I moved about the keep, he hovered like a shadow yesterday, preparing for bed as if he were somehow tied to Sgaeyl's whims.

Sgaeyl persists, undeterred by my silence. "Well, I did tell him to keep an eye on you, even if I can't." I sigh, refusing to engage further as Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll, his words punctuating the heavy atmosphere. "Simone Casteneda. We commend their souls to Malek."

The mention of the god of death sends a chill down my spine, and I realize we're closer to the end of this solemn ceremony than I'd anticipated.

As the formalities conclude, there is no traditional moment of silence or grand conclusion. The scribes depart with the scroll of names, and the quiet is broken as squad leaders turn to address their respective groups.

Dain's voice rings out, his eyes briefly meeting mine before he looks away. "Hopefully, you all ate breakfast because you're not going to get another chance before lunch," he warns.

After noticing the brief exchange, Rhiannon whispers at my side, "He's good at pretending he doesn't know you."

On my other side, Violet responds with a chuff of agreement, "He is."

I respond with a composed smile, "It matters not, for he is free to think that he remains ignorant of my true self."

Violet, ever the observant one, pipes up with an added insight, "You realize that he finds you alluring, perhaps even intriguing, don't you?"

I shake my head, doubtful of her assessment. "Trust, Violet, is a commodity I believe he lacks for me. Were it otherwise, he would have exhibited it far sooner than now."

Violet and I exchange a quick glance as Dain addresses the group. The seasoned cadets in front of us respond with a collective agreement, indicating their familiarity with the routine. As freshmen, we're positioned in the back rows of our platoon's compact, square formation.

"Hope you guys took the time to check out the syllabus we got yesterday," Dain says, his voice echoing through the courtyard. It's tough to connect this serious, no-nonsense leader with the fun-loving friend I've known before. "Stick close to each other and don't wander off," he emphasizes. "I expect everyone to show up this afternoon when we meet at the sparring hall."

I let out a sigh, having momentarily forgotten that today's schedule included sparring. While it's not my favorite activity, I can hold my own against most cadets—except for the more seasoned ones, who present a greater challenge.

A curious freshman behind me pipes up, "And if we don't show up?"

Without turning to look, both Rhiannon and Violet roll their eyes, sharing a brief, knowing smile as our shoulders gently bump.

Dain shrugs in response, "Then I won't have to worry about learning your name, since it'll be on tomorrow's roll call."

A second-grader in front of me, sporting a pair of jingling earrings, snorts with amusement. Meanwhile, the pink-haired cadet remains quiet.

"Sawyer?" Dain directs his attention to the freshman beside him.

"I'll make sure they're there," the tall, freckled cadet assures him with a nod. Sawyer, a repeat offender, is a cadet who didn't bond during Threshing and has to start the whole year over again. I can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him.

"Move out," Dain commands, and our orderly formations dissolve into a sea of chattering cadets. Sophomores and juniors, including Dain, head off in a different direction, leaving us freshmen to our own devices.

"You've got twenty minutes until class," Sawyer announces to us freshmen. "Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Grab your stuff and don't be late." Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he heads off towards the dorms.

I feel a twitch in my jaw, and Sgaeyl's voice resonates in my mind once more. "Be patient with him, Ember." I bite back a retort, recognizing that she's been relatively quiet for about an hour now, but I knew it wouldn't last.

Violet notices my slight head tilt and the direction of my gaze, following Sawyer's departure. "You feel for him, don't you?" she observes, her green eyes inquisitive.

I return her gaze and admit, "In a way, yes. Although I've never been held back a year, I've faced my share of other punishments."

She nods, offering a smile. "Well, let's get going. Better to avoid any unnecessary trouble that isn't worth our time," I say. We make our way to our dormitory, gather our belongings, and return to the courtyard, backpacks in tow.

As we pass the first dragon, a magnificent sculpture carved from dark red marble, a hand suddenly grasps my elbow, pulling me towards it. Violet is seized as well, and we're both dragged into the concealed space between the claw and the wall.

"For fusk's sake, Dain, I nearly slapped you!" I hiss, snapping at the hand still gripping my elbow. He releases Violet but maintains his hold on me, turning me around to stare directly into my eyes.

"You ate, right? I know they rush you out of the dorms when the bells chime at six," he says, his gaze locked onto mine.

I raise a brow, perplexed. "Yes..." I start to answer, but then shake my head. "Okay, spit it out. You want something, don't you?" I inquire, knowing all too well that he must have an ulterior motive for this sudden concern.

Violet laughs, prompting me to shoot her a glare over my shoulder. Meanwhile, Dain continues to hold my elbow, so I turn my attention back to him.

"What? No, of course not. I just care about your well-being, Emberlyn. Is that such a bad thing now?" he snaps, clearly irritated.

I can't help but chuckle, amused by his display of concern. I grab his hand and pry his fingers off my elbow before seizing his wrist and pulling him close. Violet wolf-whistles behind me, and I resist the urge to kick her, keeping my focus on Dain.

"Don't think you can coddle me, Dain. I'm far more dangerous than you'll ever know," I hiss, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, "You won't be my mate if I do what I want."

His face flushes at my words, and I can't help but smirk as I release him. Stepping back, I cross my arms over my chest. "Now, leave us alone to get to our damned sparring session. We'll be fine," I assert, turning my attention to Violet.

Linking my arm with hers, we stride away from Dain, leaving him behind as we continue on our way.