Alinor Bloom, Second Year Cadet, Entry #73
I told myself I could fix it from the inside. That if I stayed long enough—kept my head down, followed orders—I’d find the fault lines, the cracks in the truth they fed us. But the longer I stayed, the harder it was to tell where their lies ended and mine began.
There’s something beneath it all. I don’t know what. But I’ve seen the patterns. The disappearances. The buried records. Merrin's orders that never made sense.
And then I met him.
An Outerlander.
Different from me in every way that mattered—born under a different sky, raised in a system they taught us to fear—but there was something there I couldn’t deny. Something that cut through the lies sharper than anything I’d found inside these walls, and if I was wrong about him, what else am I wrong about?
That was the shift. The moment I couldn’t pretend anymore. Whatever game they’re playing, I wouldn’t let us, either of us, become pieces on their board. So I ran. I chose to survive. I chose the one fight I still had a chance of winning: him.
I don’t knowhow long I’ve been out, but when I start to stir, it’s still dark. And there’s a sound—low, distant. A hum, like a tune played too far underwater to make out.
I shift, slow, cheek dragging against scratchy fabric as I blink my eyes open. Wooden beams hang above me, warped and familiar.Bren’s place, his lumpy old armchair.
Somewhere outside, something creaks, a voice, maybe… But it doesn’t matter, I’m here, I’m home.
My thoughts continue to slur together, slow and soft like my brain hasn’t decided whether to wake up yet. Limbs heavy, spine warm. I could fall right back under.
But then a light flickers behind the curtain. Orange. Too orange.
I blink again, slower this time. A breeze slips through the cracked window, cool on my skin—but the air’s off. Thick. I breathe in and it catches, clings to the back of my throat. Bitter, burnt.
Smoke.
The blanket falls to the floor as I stand up.
The hum sharpens, growing louder now. Not a hum.
A siren.
Dragon siren.
Footsteps thunder down the stairs as Bren’s voice rips through the room,
“Ashvale’s burning. They’ve breached the whole fucking town.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Idon’t move at first—my feet are still half-asleep, numb from cold or fear, I can’t tell. So I just stand there, watching him try to yank his shirt over his head while shoving his feet into his pants at the same time. Fingers shaking, breath too loud, he stumbles but catches himself on the windowsill where smoke has started curling through the cracks in the frame, wrapping around his wrist like a threat.
In the corner, his clock shifts past 12:40 a.m., its face lit faintly by the flash of firelight. Its ticking’s already lost—drowned beneath the sirens rising outside, sharp and shrill, pulsing through the dark. The pitch of panic, the sound of too late.
I step forward, fingers tightening at my side. How many people are out there? Trapped...
“Rhiann—” The name breaks out of me. Her boy, Charlie. If they’re stuck, if the fire’s close—there’s no way she can carry him out on her own. And she’d never leave him.
My heart kicks hard in my chest. It’s not logic. Not really. It’s instinct. I’m already dressed, slept in some old clothes I found atBren’s, but my boots are by the door. I’m already moving. Feet shoved in, no time for laces.
Bren looks up, flashing me that quiet, furiousdon’t you fucking darelook—the one that says he knows exactly what’s unravelling inside my head before I do. He’s worn it a dozen times before. Back when we were kids, climbing walls, I shouldn’t have.
“Don’t,” he pleads. One leg in his pants.
“I have to help them.” I beg, voice steady, even though my skin already remembers the heat, even though I swore I’d never run into a burning house again.
His whole face shifts, just barely, but enough to make the guilt worse. Fumbling for balance—boot half-on, he shifts, reaching a hand out toward me, but I’m already turning.
