Thaelyn reached for Thorne’s hand without speaking. Together, they walked toward the edge of the flying field. Voices were rising inbursts of excitement and nerves. Today wasn’t just another drill; it was a real patrol. Steel buckles clicked shut, leather was cinched, and the low thrum of dragon hearts beat like war drums in the air. It was a time for flight, for duty, and for parting paths, at least for a while.
Thorne tightened the buckles of his armored shoulder harness with practiced efficiency, his gaze focused and jaw tense. His tunic lay open at the throat, revealing a glimpse of the swirling shadow-mark that traced the curve of his collarbone. Vornokh stood behind him, tail swishing in short arcs as his wings unfurled against the wind. The massive black dragon exhaled a plume of smoke through his nostrils and grumbled deep in his chest, the kind of sound that made nearby first years glance over with unease.
Across the field, Darian adjusted the straps on Kaeroth's saddle, whistling low under his breath. “Remind me again why it’s always the second years who get the glorious assignments? Border tension, possible uprisings, and maybe even a skirmish. Sounds like the kind of thing we should be getting a commendation for.”
“Maybe don’t get shot this time,” Garric muttered as he tightened the straps on his own gear. Tarken was looming silently beside him. “And keep your dragon from eating any livestock on the way.”
Kaeroth gave an offended snort, tossing his red-scaled head. Nearby, Rowan stood with his orange-scaled beast, Tarken, checking the twin daggers at his belt. His usual smirk was replaced with grim focus. Sorren, silent as ever, adjusted the cloak around his shoulders before lifting a gloved hand to stroke the muzzle of Mirra. The pair were shadows, even in daylight, there and not, like breath drawn and never exhaled. Garric approached first, already strapped in and checking the satchels on his saddle.
“We're clear on the route,” Garric said, voice low. “If the terrain reports are right, there’s been no real movement across the Black Ridge. But Solas is right to be uneasy. Something’s shifting.”
Thorne nodded, jaw tightening. “Eyes need to be sharp and fire ready.” Thorne stood near Vornokh’s massive forelimb, one handresting against the black dragon’s thick shoulder. The beast’s golden eyes flicked toward him with quiet understanding.
This one, you do not want to leave.
Thorne didn’t respond aloud. His jaw was already set. He watched the group across the field, Thaelyn and her squad readying gear with practiced rhythm. Nyxariel moved like moonlit smoke behind her, head low, eyes bright with barely-leashed tension. Darian approached from the side, sliding his wrist blades into place.
“You good?” Darian asked.
Thorne nodded once. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You’re lying.” Garric joined them, helmet under his arm. “You haven’t stopped looking at her since we arrived.”
“I am worried about her. I know she’s got Brynnek,” Thorne said, but his eyes didn’t move from Thaelyn. “I trust him. Doesn’t mean I like having her go on her own with the first-years.”
Garric smirked, clapping him on the back. “Then say something, before you both take off in different directions.”
Behind them, the field buzzed with organized chaos. Iri, Feyra, and Orion secured straps over their saddles, while Rhys passed out signal flares and magic dampeners. Brynnek stalked up and down the lines of first-year riders, barking orders like he'd been born to command.
“Check every clasp and tail rig. If I find one rider sliding off in midair because you were too lazy to triple-check, you’ll be dead.”
Thaelyn stood before Nyxariel, who had crouched low and watched the scene with glowing eyes, clearly agitated by the absence of her mate. Thaelyn’s hair had been hastily braided to one side, a few rebellious curls falling over her brow. She wore dark flight leathers cinched tight, bow and short blade slung across her back. Her daggers were loaded in the sheaths of her flight leathers. Feyra helped Rhys with a twisted strap, while Orion and Iri double-checked their weapons. Their movements were more hesitant than the second-years, more careful and deliberate, but no less determined.
From across the field, Thorne’s gaze tracked her every move.
As Brynnek stepped away to finish inspecting his unit, he barkedorders with a voice that was no nonsense. His brown dragon, Tieren, gave a low grunt of approval behind him as the cadets snapped to attention.
Thorne broke from his squad and crossed the field in long, purposeful strides. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew the weight of war and the sweetness of things worth protecting.
“Brynnek,” he called, just loud enough for the man to hear. Brynnek turned, brows lifted, expectant.
“Take care of Thaelyn,” Thorne said low, only for him to hear. “I thought of requesting she fly with my squad, but she’d be furious that I did, and she needs to learn to find herself outside of me. Watch Nyxariel. She doesn’t like being separated from Vornokh and can get agitated easily.”
Brynnek nodded once. “We’ll keep both of them in the air and clear-headed. You have my word.”
Thorne turned. Thaelyn was adjusting the vambrace on her arm when he reached her. Her brows arched in surprise as he drew near, and then a faint smile played at her lips.
“I thought you were already mounting up,” she said.
“I was. Then I remembered I forgot something important.” Thorne took her hand gently, pulling her a step closer, then leaned in and kissed her. Slow, warm, and unbothered by the dozens of cadets watching them from across the field. His hand slid to her waist, fingers brushing the edge of her belt.
Thaelyn blinked up at him afterward, cheeks flushed. “Well,” she murmured, “that should keep me warm through the northern winds.”
He stepped back with a smirk. “I’ll see you after. Stay above the stormline, keep your eyes sharp. Don’t let Rhys talk too much; it’ll make you slow. Brynnek knows what he is doing,” Thorne said, drawing close. “He knows not to let anything happen to what’s mine.”
She rolled her eyes. “So bossy. Just go, Dareth, before I start missing you. You look too good in those flight leathers, so as you leave, walk away real slow, so I can take in whatis mine too.”
He chuckled low and brushed a final kiss to her forehead before turning sharply and crossing the field.
