Raven
Tomorrow isthe winter formal and the processional. The weight of anticipation sits heavy in my chest, mixing excitement with dread. I still don’t know if Titan will carry me, and the uncertainty gnaws at me like a persistent ache.
“Oh look, it’s the winged freak.” The sneering voice cuts through the afternoon air behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see the three guard drakes that have been starting shit whenever they can. Their eyes gleam with malicious satisfaction, and I can smell the sulfur that clings to their skin—a scent that always makes my nose wrinkle with distaste.
Luckily, I only see them during my one class outside of Shadowcarve. But that changes come January. I’ll be splitting my time between politics, royal protocols, and the warpath I tested into. After tomorrow night, I will no longer be allowed to run the gauntlet—my status as heir apparent will change everything.
Before they can get close enough to cause real trouble, I take flight. My wings catch the cool afternoon air as I head toward Shadowcarve, leaving their frustrated snarls behind. The familiar weight of my blackmembranes cutting through the wind feels like freedom, even if it’s temporary.
I land in the courtyard with a soft thud, my boots hitting the worn cobblestones that have absorbed decades of similar landings. The stone walls of Shadowcarve rise around me like protective arms, and I head to my room to change.
It’s been nine days since I scent-marked Corvis, and remarkably, no one has tried to attack me since. What an interesting turn of events. The territorial marking seems to work better than I’d hoped.
I get changed into my leathers, the familiar scent of well-oiled hide filling my nostrils as I pull on the supple material. The weight of my weapons settles against my body like old friends, and I head upstairs to the war room with the simulators. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across the rows of machines that hum with electronic readiness.
Balor stands at the door again, his face is impassive as he shakes the bucket of tokens. The metallic clinking fills the air as I take a token from the bucket, the small piece of metal warm from his hand.
Tomorrow’s events play through my mind like a rehearsed script. First the processional, then I get crowned as Klauth’s heir apparent. After that, females have to symbolically dive off the tower and shift while all the eligible males watch from below—a display that makes my skin crawl despite its ancient significance. Then we get escorted into the hall by our fathers, and we’re allowed to walk around and meet the males at their designated tables.
Full bloodlines are required to be validated by the Temple of Bahamut. I have a copy of mine that, if I find a male I’m interested in, I can show his family my record. The document feels like a weight in my future—proof of my worth reduced to parchment and genetics. If after my birthday I don’t find my mate, I can have my father open discussions about a marriage. The thought tastes like ash in my mouth.
“Earth to Raven...” Orpheus’s concerned voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. He’s kneeling before me, his familiar scent of leather and steel grounding me back to the present. I shake my head, snapping out of my inner monologue.
“Sorry, I have a lot on my mind.” I stand and look at my token, then move to the simulator with the matching symbol. The machine’s screen glows blue in the artificial light, waiting for its next victim.
“Hey, Azalea.” I reach around the simulator to touch my sister’s hand, her skin warm and reassuring beneath my fingers.
“Hey! Promise me you won’t hold back.” Azalea’s voice carries both challenge and affection as she gives my hand a squeeze, her grip firm, and confident.
“As long as you promise not to hold back either.” I smile at her, seeing my own competitive fire reflected in her eyes. She nods with determination.
“Deal. Let’s do this.” She laughs, the sound bright and infectious as Balor steps up with two cards in his weathered hands.
“We’ll take the left one,” she answers before he can ask, pointing at the card with typical Azalea decisiveness.
He loads the card with a soft electronic beep, then heads to the back to start the simulations. The familiar sounds of machines coming online fill the air—whirring processors and cooling fans creating a technological symphony.
I turn and stare at the leaderboard, the names and scores glowing in green letters against the dark board. “I’d love to see our nest at the top. I don’t care about the order.”
“That would be epic.” Azalea’s voice carries the same longing I feel. “Side question—how’s Titan?”
I’m grateful she can’t see the worried expression that crosses my face.The memory of his scarred legs and uncertain future makes my chest tight. “I’m going to go find out at the end of the day.”
“I hope he’s okay.” Azalea’s voice softens with genuine concern, and I just nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
Before we know it, Balor hits the button to start the simulation. The electronic chime signals the beginning of what could be our final academic challenge.
After talking to Vaughn at length, I realized my error from last time. I was thinking in terms of my family’s exceptional abilities rather than standard military doctrine. So, I assess the parameters carefully and make the best moves based on the species offered, forcing myself to eliminate the knowledge of what my family can do.
This time I’m set as defense, so I line the species up according to their strengths and weaknesses. The tactical display shows various unit types, each with its own capabilities and limitations. I set the best defense I can with what I’m given, then figure out the retaliation strategy that will maximize damage while minimizing losses.
When I’m sure I’ve done the best I can, I hit the button to lock the screen. The soft click seems unnaturally loud in the focused silence. I lock the cover over the keyboard with a metallic snap, then drop the key into the basket beside the simulator with a soft clink.
I watch Corvis across the room, his silver eyes focused intently on the tablet in his hands as he changes the rankings of students. The device recalculates everything in real-time, and I can see the subtle shift in his expression as new scores appear.
Almost thirty minutes later, Balor comes to us and hits the start button. The simulation begins with a low electronic hum that vibrates through the machine. Azalea comes and sits on my side, and I wrap a wing around her, the black membrane creating a private cocoon as we watch the battle unfold on our screen.
This is probably the closest battle I’ve had yet. The tactical display shows destruction on a scale that makes my dragon purr with satisfaction. We’re going strike for strike as the carnage reaches new levels of intensity, each move calculated and devastating.
