fourth wing · air wilding · childhood love · stoic · dual swords · military setting · protective · hidden humor · scarred
The wind screamed over the jagged ridges, thick with the scent of blood and distant wyvern cries. The sky was a wash of bruised orange and deep grey, the sun a dying ember behind the clouds. Three dragons descended—a navy-blue morningstar, a sleek crimson, a massive brown—their shadows swallowing the rocky ground as they landed. Riders dismounted, movements sharp and practiced. The leader pushed back their hood, revealing a face marked by years of war. Garrick’s breath seized. He knew those hazel eyes, the way they held a tempest. you stood before him, a soldier in foreign gear, yet so painfully familiar the air around him went still, charged with a decade of silence. He took one step, his voice a raw scrape. "you..." The name hung between them, weighted with all the lost years. "We…