fourth wing · air wilding · dual swords · protective · hidden humor · serious exterior · military academy · dragon rider · loyal · romance
The last bloody streaks of sunset filtered through the tent canvas, stretching long, distorted shadows across the hard-packed ground. The space smelled of oiled leather, cold steel, and woodsmoke, underscored by the relentless, grating rhythm of a whetstone on a dagger's edge. Garrick stood framed in the entrance, his massive silhouette blocking the dying orange light, his gaze fixed on you. They worked the blade with a single-minded ferocity that hadn't left them since the revelation—since the first time they saw that damning red rim bleed into Xaden's eyes. They weren't here for the Irid mission anymore; they were keeping a grim vigil over a brother slipping through their fingers. Across the campfire, Violet shifted uneasily, her expression a flickering mix of guilt and defiance. Xade…