The wind on the flight field had teeth that morning. It ripped down from the northern crags, carrying flecks of ice and the howling breath of high-altitude currents. The skies above the Asgar Training Academy turned silver-blue and sharp with frost as dawn cracked open across the mountaintop. Cadets flooded into the flying field from all corners of the campus, a sea of black flying leathers and crimson-threaded cloaks drawn against the cold.
Dragons circled overhead, waiting. Massive shapes, armored in scale and ancient power, swept across the clouds like shadow wings. Some hovered, others landed in slow, practiced spirals. Talons carved grooves into the ice-slick stone. The ground shook.
Thaelyn stood near the edge of the field, a stiff breeze pluckingstrands of hair from her braid. Her flight leathers were laced tight, the storm-gray of her coat glinting faintly with silver stitching that mirrored the ancient runes branded into her saddle. Behind her, Nyxariel loomed.
The blue dragon was silent, eyes lit like twin moons, her wings partially spread and catching the light like wet silk. Despite her calm exterior, Thaelyn could feel the weight of Nyxariels’s attention pressing against her spine. The dragon’s power coiled beneath the surface like lightning beneath still water.
Thorne stood with Vornokh, the black beast’s broad wings furled tightly behind him. He looked like a shadow dragged into flesh, massive and regal, his black hide edged in smoldering flame. Thorne wore his dual-sword harness across his shoulders, crimson scarf tucked beneath the collar of his jacket. His presence was every inch the Prince of Fire and Shadows. His eyes found hers. They always did. She nodded once. He smirked.
“Try to keep up this time,” Thaelyn called, voice low but amused.
Thorne grinned beneath the wind. “Ladies first, Stormborn.”
“Don’t tempt me, Fire Prince.”
Across the field, the others gathered. The sound of boot heels on stone silenced the murmurs. Professor Caelira strode into the field as if she owned it. Crimson braids coiled down her back, her coat a flare of tailored fire. She moved with purpose, sky-blue eyes sweeping the assembly, daring anyone to test her authority.
Commander Dareth followed, his cloak snapping behind him. The commander was all sharp lines and iron silence. His black coat bore the insignia of the Dareth line across his chest, but it was the blade at his hip that drew attention, steel forged in the image of dragon wings.
Behind them stood General Ravaryn Solas and Senior General Terrance Morlen, the highest-ranking officers of the Asgar Training Academy. Terrance’s orange dragon watched from the upper cliffs, carved muscle and glowing gold eyes, a reminder that even among dragons, some beasts had tasted actual war.
“Line up!” Caelira’s voice cracked across the field.
“First-years, left side. Second-years, form up on the right. You’re here because you bonded. That makes youdangerous. Not skilled. Not elite. Just bonded. Half of you will get yourselves killed if you do not learn how to give the dragons control while you maintain it.”
A chuckle somewhere in the ranks died swiftly. Commander Dareth stepped forward. “You will train in formation flying, battle dive syncs, wind-current tracking, and reactive formation breaks. Today, you fly with your dragons, your instincts, and the second-years who have learned that control. You will never control the dragon, but you will need to learn how to work together.” He glanced to the edge of the ridge where the dragons paced, waiting. “If you disobey an order in the sky, your dragon will correct it, with a drop.”
Caelira gestured toward the main flight path, a series of banners, floating hoops, wind pylons, and staggered cliff points that formed a massive sky course stretching out above the high valley.
“Today’s drills are full-formation flights—lead pairs, climb, spiral, and correct. Fail, and we start again. Second-year cadets, if your new partners make a mistake, guide them. Don’t compensate, you must train.”
Thorne turned toward his dragon, his gloved hand brushing Vornokh’s jaw. The beast growled low and let him mount. A moment later, Thaelyn climbed Nyxariel in one practiced motion. The saddle fit like a second spine, and the instant her hand touched the ridge, her heart skipped. Aether stirred beneath her skin. She breathed into it. Nearby, others followed suit.
Darian mounted Kaeroth, the red dragon’s wings snapping with unrestrained heat as the fire-wielder settled into his seat. Garric approached Vaelion, the green-scaled male dragon whose massive limbs shimmered faintly with Aether-infused frost. The beast’s tail twitched like a blade of ivy and ice. Brynnek clambered up Tieren, his brown dragon stamping the earth with heavy forelegs, poison-green eyes darting across the horizon like a predator hunting before flight. Sorren Vex mounted Mirra, the sleek red female with flame-touched wings, while Vaeryn Malet swung into the secondary harness behind him. They moved in complete silence, almost eerilysynchronized. Rowan paused only long enough to lock eyes with Tarken, his ferocious orange mount. Tarken bared her teeth and snorted like a war chant before lowering her head in grudging respect.
Feyra mounted Razarok, her red dragon bristling with ridged flame and serrated horns. When Razarok lifted his wings, the heat pushed back the mist. Iri gave Skael a grin and a tap to the neck before settling into the saddle; the red dragon grumbled and rose into a low hover. Orion adjusted the harness on Vorran, his orange beast twitching with coiled tension, sharp ridges glowing gold along his wingspan. Ryslan checked Tarnak’s bridle, his green-scaled mount snarling softly, talons dragging trenches in the stone as he waited.
“Mount up!” Caelira shouted. “Dragons, flight pattern alpha, go!”
With a simultaneous roar, the sky came alive. Dragons launched into the air like arrows loosed from the Gods. Wind burst in every direction, dirt and stone into the air. Thaelyn felt Nyxariel surge beneath her, wings slicing upward as the clouds opened above them. Vornokh appeared beside her like a shadow birthing from sunlight, Thorne seated steady, his profile sharp against the dawn. The sky churned with power. Above the peak, the training markers, flags, rings, and moving targets shimmered in place.
Professor Caelira’s voice rang through her amplifying charm. “Group One, pass the twin pillars, climb to the drop spiral, then dive through the broken crescent! Second-years lead. First-years follow, tight formation, or I will drag you from the sky myself.”
Vornokh twisted into a controlled climb, and Thorne brought him up beside Thaelyn and Nyxariel.
“Pull left on the crest, there’s a crosswind,” Thorne said low, just to her.
“I can feel it,” Thaelyn replied, angling her knee into Nyxariel’s side.
“You’ve gotten better.”
“Yes, practice makes one better,” she teased.
“I’d have to agree with that.” He smiled and gaveher a little wink. He shifted, a softer edge beneath. “I’m starting to notice how often you match me in flying.”
Thaelyn grinned. “Good. I want you off-balance.”
“You already have me there,” he murmured.
