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"Much."

Ash Wing laughs. Sky Wing does not. Rowan points dramatically toward our notebooks. "My condolences!"

Rhyven finally glances toward her. "Run faster."

"I hate you!" She shouts once she's farther.

Ash Wing disappears over the hill. Their laughter echoes through the valley. Rhyven turns back to us. "Our Wing won't." He lets the sentence settle.

"Race?" asks Elias.

"Train physically?" asks Tessa.

"Touch a weapon?" asks another student.

"Eventually."

The collective disappointment is almost tangible. Rhyven notices. Doesn't care. He gestures toward the cliffs overlooking the valley. "Walk." No further instructions. No formation. No destination. Just— Walk. The Wing exchanges confused looks before following him along the winding mountain path.

No one speaks for several minutes. The only sounds are boots against wet stone and distant dragons calling somewhere below. Mist rolls through the valley in slow waves. The mountains disappear and reappear as clouds drift between them.

Rhyven stops without warning. Half the Wing nearly walks into one another. He turns. "What color are the Headmaster's eyes?" Silence. Twenty students stare back.

Eventually Tessa ventures, "Grey?"

"No."

Selena answers next. "Brown."

"No."

Anika shrugs. "I've never looked." Her voice is low.

"Exactly." Rhyven folds his arms. "You've all met him." No one argues. "You've stood within five meters of him." Still silence. "You remember his authority." A pause. "Not his face." He begins walking again.

We continue following. After perhaps another hundred steps— He stops. "How many windows are in Professor Neris' classroom?" Nothing.

Mira frowns. "Eight?"

"Twelve."

He resumes walking. This time the silence feels different. Everyone begins looking around. Really looking. Not because we suddenly understand the lesson. Because no one wants to be wrong again.

I notice the rain dripping from pine needles. A crack running through the cliff path. Three ravens circling below. One second-year quietly smiling to herself. Rhyven glances back. He notices us noticing. Good.

Without warning— Something flies toward Elias. He barely catches it before it strikes his chest. An apple. He blinks. "What..."

Rhyven doesn't answer. Instead he asks, "What did you observe?"

Elias looks at the apple. "Movement?"

"Good. What else?" Rhyven asks.

"It came from..." He points vaguely. "...your direction."

Rhyven nods. "What else?"

Elias hesitates. "I..." Rhyven waits. The silence stretches. Finally— "I don't know." Elias says quietly. "You observed motion." Rhyven nods once. "You did not observe intent." He points toward the apple. "Why did I throw it?" No one answers.