“She should have stayed in her town,” one said. “No element’s going to claim a girl who can’t keep her footing.”
“Did you hear? The Commander assigned her to Squad Leader Dareth’s rotation. Thorne requested she be removed after this demonstration.”
Thaelyn froze. She was so frustrated a tear fell down her cheek.
Thorne hadn’t left the ring. He stayed to help the professors clean up, but his eyes kept returning to the spot where she had fallen twice and still gotten back up, as if daring gravity itself. Thaelyn Marren. Too bold. Too reckless. Too loud. And too hard to ignore.
His uncle’s orders were clear: observe the first-years, observe potential, and help the instructors identify which initiates might be worth extra training. That was it. But shehitsomething in him. It wasn’t just the wind blast, though that had been stronger than it should’ve been for a probable first elemental magic manifestation. No one else saw it because it came so fast, but he recognized it. What was pulling at him was the way she looked at him like he wasn’t something to fear or flatter. Like she was already planning how to break past him. That should’ve annoyed him. It should’vemade him shut her down. Instead, it made him want to test her again.
Thorne dragged a hand through his hair. His jaw was tight. He needed to push Thaelyn harder next time if she was to return to his rotation. He would strip away the defiance, and hammer out the discipline. If she kept walking into fights with that fire in her eyes and no shield for the burn, she wasn’t going to survive here or out in the battlefield.
He turned to the gym doors without another glance but something lingered at the edge of his thoughts. He’d seen potential before. Talent. Raw power. But not like this. Never in someone who made himfeelsomething he didn’t have a name for.
Chapter
Eight
The Assembly Hall was a sanctum of shadow and stone, hewn from the blackest timber and dark iron, its very architecture humming with ancient authority. At its heart, a grand circular inner chamber stretched outward in layered tiers, each row of curved benches designed not merely for seating, but for judgment, for bearing witness. No casual audience ever gathered here. This was where decrees were made, alliances forged, and legacies were either born or buried.
Above the central dais, suspended by chains thick as a warrior’s arm, hung the skeletal remains of a colossal black dragon, centuries old. Its wings unfurled as if even in death it dared the heavens. Its ribcage formed a jagged crown, and the flickering torchlight from wall sconces cast monstrous shadows through its hollow bones, dancing across the vaulted ceiling like ghosts.
Three circular skylights let in ghost-pale beams of daylight, piercing the gloom like the eyes of the Gods themselves. The light pooled onto the tribunal table below, a solid slab of carved onyx flanked by two ancient chairs, their backs etched with sigils too old for the common tongue.
High-arched alcoves lined the outer wall, each bearing a crest of the elemental houses: Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and the long-forgotten Aether, now faded and cracked like a secret barely remembered. Behind those banners, upper balconies loomed, providing vantage points for elite commanders or visiting royalty.Their presence would not be announced; they were simply there, watching.
The room smelled of parchment and smoke, of leather-bound law books and lingering dragonfire. Every inch of the space whispered a single truth: power was decided here.
Thaelyn joined the rows of other first-years, her gaze lifting to the enchanted ceiling of crystal glass, flickering with veiled starlight even in the morning. She had never felt so small. A hush fell across the cadets as Commander Dareth stepped to the front. He stood like a statue carved from obsidian. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair loosely swept back from a scarred brow, the jagged white mark running down the left side of his rugged face, like a reminder of war. His dark grey eyes scanned the crowd with incredible precision. Beneath his dark leathers, muscles rippled with barely restrained control.
Someone behind Thaelyn whispered, “That family hasamazinggenes and an even better jawline.”
“You are seated where the greatest warriors of our realm once sat,” said Commander Dareth, striding into view. His dark uniform bore the double insignia of Dragon-Bonded and Commander: two crossed blades behind an ancient sigil. “My dragon and I have trained in the art of war since before most of your families were born,” he continued. “You are here because you may carry the gift of elemental magic, and that gift demands discipline.”
His voice echoed across the ancient stones.
“This academy was founded after the Siege of Aranor, when dragons and riders forged the last defense against the Rift,” Commander Dareth said. “Back then, elemental wielders were scattered and untrained. Whole cities fell before realizing the need for a united defense. So, the Asgar Training Academy was born from blood and ash, not parchment and ink.”
Thaelyn felt a shiver crawl up her spine. She could feel the weight of history pressing against the walls, the ghosts of those who had stood where she stood now.
“You will be taught to wield your gifts, to bond if the dragons choose you, and to defend your kingdom until your dying breath.Make no mistake, this is not a school. This is a training forge. And many of you will break.”
He paused as a murmur swept the room.
Beside Thaelyn, Iri exhaled slowly. “He always knows how to keep things light,” she whispered under her breath.
“Your instructors are not here to coddle you,” Commander Dareth said. “They have fought. They have bled. They carry the wisdom of their elements and the legacy of every rider before them.”
Commander Dareth gestured toward the five professors standing in a semicircle beside the dais. Each of them stepped forward in turn.
First to step forward was Professor Syra Velnari, the Air instructor and second Dragon Rider Instructor. She stood about five feet eight inches tall. She was slender. She moved like wind incarnate, tall and willowy, platinum hair cascading down her back, her icy blue eyes sharp with uncanny perception. She wore robes of silken silver that shimmered as if always in motion. When she spoke, her voice was calm, clear, and crisp like a high mountain breeze. Air hummed around her like an unseen cloak. She had a serene but unnerving presence. It was as if she could see what others could not. “Air is unseen but ever-present. It listens, learns, and strikes without warning. I will teach you to ride the wind, or be dashed upon the rocks by it. Control is not restraint,” she said softly, yet somehow everyone heard her. “It is precision.”
Next came Professor Veyne Caelira, Master of Fire, striding with undeniable authority. She stood about five feet ten, lean and sharply cut like a blade forged in flame. Her long, wavy hair, streaked fire-red, crimson, and black, fell to the middle of her back. Amber-gold eyes flickered like live embers, and her warm, freckled skin and precise posture gave her a dangerous, elegant presence. Every movement was exact, earning both fear and reverence from the students. She wore form-fitting flying leathers with armor-like scales on the vest, edged in molten gold runes.
“Fire obeys no one but respects strength,” she said, her voicesimmering with contained fury. “Fire is neither good nor evil,” she said. “It consumes what you feed it. Control it, or be consumed.”
Behind her emerged Professor Lyndra Morren, the Water Wielder. She stood around five feet eight, with dark skin and loose black curls gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her sea-glass green eyes were striking, and her robes flowed like a tide around her, constantly shifting as if she were part wave herself. Her magic carried a faint, salty scent, reminiscent of storms. Graceful and fluid, she moved with long limbs and quick, elegant hands.
“Water remembers,” she said, her voice like waves lapping a shore. “It bends, breaks, heals, and drowns. Water is patient. Water carves stone and washes blood away. Never mistake calm for mercy. We’ll see which way you turn.”
