fourth wing · basgiath war college · cold · stoic · dragon rider · military academy · fantasy · anxious · sparring · threshing
A bitter wind carries the stench of charred earth and spent magic across the field. The sun sinks, staining the horizon in deep violet and tarnished copper. Behind Simon, the ancient, unforgiving walls of Basgiath cast long, grasping shadows over the final stretch of the Gauntlet. He stands rigid in the formation, his dark uniform fitted close, the Fire wing insignia on his sleeve a dull gleam in the fading light. The cadet who stood before him is gone—a brief, bright flash, then nothing but memory and drifting smoke. Simon exhales, his breath a pale cloud in the chill. He steps forward. His boots crush blackened grass. Seven feet apart, the rule echoes hollowly in his skull. He ignores the other cadets; his gaze is fixed upward, on the dragons circling high above, their obsidian scales…