Narvea landed with a heavy thud, green scales gleaming like wet stone under the rising sun. Her eyes met Ferrula’s, a silent exchange that didn’t need words.
Ferrula vaulted onto her dragon’s back, her form seamless with the motion, and then, with a thunderous beat of wings, they launched.
I watched as Narvea carried her toward the Veiled Rise, toward the swirling mist that never lifted, no matter how bright the day became. In seconds, they were swallowed by it, the cliffside claiming them like a secret.
I swallowed hard.
“Whathappensin there?” I asked, my voice low, not to disturb the solemn awe settling over the group.
Naia turned her head toward me, her eyes still faintly glowing from her own bond, a calm knowing in her voice now.
“It’s not a trial,” she said. “It’s a… reflection. A look into your soul and your dragon’s. Not just your power, but your past. Your values. What you hide. What youare.”
“It’s personal,” I murmured.
“As personal as it gets,” she said softly. “It’s different for everyone. It has to be.”
I didn’t ask her for more. Her experience wouldn’t be mine. Couldn’t be. Whatever waited for me would be born ofmyshadows.Myblood.
And Kaelith’s silence.
We stood quietly then, all of us, watching the clouds, breath held like prayer.
And then the skyshattered.
Narvea burst from the mist like a goddess reborn, Ferrula standing tall on her dragon’s back, sword drawn. Her roarcrackedthrough the sky, a sound so fierce, so proud, it shook the hearts in our chests.
We erupted.
Riven whooped. Tae let out a long, low whistle. Even Cordelle gave a nod of solemn approval.
But no one was louder than Jax, who threw both fists into the air and shouted, “That’s my girl!”
Ferrula’s smirk as she landed was pure fire.
Two down.
My chest tightened.
Assuming I was next.
But the next name called wasn’t mine.
“Torven of Crownwatch,” the major said.
He was another prospect, maybe a year or two younger than me, with faint gold trim on his cloak marking him as one of Zander’s own. He stepped forward slowly, stiff-backed but pale, his jaw clenched like he knew his name had just become a sentence.
His dragon, a sleek brown Swordtail with curved wings and a restless tail, descended from the sky with a hollow cry.
Torven mounted.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t look back.
The air felt heavier the moment they took off.
His dragon carried him toward the Veiled Rise, its wings slicing through the air like a blade into fog. Within moments, they disappeared into the mist, swallowed by it completely.
