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"Barely."

"I told Corvell to go easy on you."

I raise an eyebrow. "You did not."

He grins. "I considered it."

"You absolutely did not."

His grin transforms into a smile. "No. I didn't."

Before I can answer, another group joins us. Root Wing. Nyra spots me immediately. "Please tell me we're not running." She looks like she barely slept.

"I honestly don't know."

She sighs dramatically. "I knew I should've stayed in bed."

Behind her walks Soren. Calm. Hands folded behind his back. He exchanges a quiet nod with Caelen. No words. None needed. The Chiefs know each other well enough that silence seems to qualify as conversation. I glance around the growing crowd. No Ash Wing. No Tide Wing. Curious. Before I have time to ask— "Formation." Rhyven's voice carries across the courtyard. Conversations stop almost instantly. Students organize themselves into neat lines.

Sky Wing nearest the front. Dawn beside us. Root bringing up the rear. Professor Vale emerges from the western tower carrying nothing but a leather folder. No weapon. No armour. Nothing to suggest today's lesson requires either. He surveys the assembled students. "Follow." No explanation. No destination. Just...Follow.

The Academy gradually disappears behind us as we make our way west. The stone paths become dirt. The dirt becomes rock. Trees begin thinning until only stubborn pines remain clinging to the cliffs. The air changes too. Cooler. Sharper. Something unfamiliar lingers beneath the scent of pine and damp earth. Smoke. Not fresh. Ancient. As though the stones themselves remember fire. I glance toward Nyra. She wrinkles her nose. "You smell it too?" I nod. She doesn't ask what it is. Neither do I. Somehow it feels obvious.

The Dragon Grounds sit within a natural basin carved into the mountainside. The first thing I notice isn't the size. It's the silence. No birds. No insects. Nothing nests here. The second thing I notice are the marks. Deep grooves carved into solid rock. Some run for several metres before disappearing beneath layers of weathered stone. Others puncture the ground in perfect arcs. Claw marks. Landing marks. Proof that creatures far larger than imagination regularly occupy this place.

The basin itself is enormous. Wide enough that several training fields could fit inside it. Stone platforms rise from the earth like uneven terraces, each large enough to support something unimaginably heavy. Some are blackened. Others cracked. One has been split completely in two. Not recently. Long ago. Yet no one repaired it. They simply built around it. History left visible. Just as it should be.

"Eyes here." Professor Vale waits until every student is facing him. Then speaks. "Most civilians spend their lives looking at dragons." He pauses. "You will spend yours looking past them." A few confused expressions appear. Including mine. He notices. Good. "Your enemy..." He continues. "Will not stop attacking because you're impressed." His gaze sweeps slowly across the three Wings. "If a dragon distracts you, you're already dead." No one laughs. Not because the statement is frightening. Because no one doubts he believes it.

"You are not here today to learn about dragons." He says. "You are here to learn how not to become a problem for them." That catches my attention. "A battlefield shared with dragons is unlike any other." He begins walking slowly across the front of the formation. "They see farther. They move faster. They hear what you cannot. They smell what you cannot." He stops. "But they cannot protect soldiers who refuse to think." His eyes settle briefly on a first-year wolf. "When a dragon lands...What do you do?"

The student hesitates. "Move?"

"No."

Another student tries. "Give them space?"

It's more a question than an answer. "Eventually." Vale folds his arms. "The first thing you do is determine whether they've noticed you." Silence. "Everything after that depends on the answer." He gestures toward the nearest stone platform. "You've all heard stories." Some students nod. "You've all been told dragons are intelligent." More nods. "They are." A pause. "They are not human."

Something about the way he says it makes the distinction feel important. "Do not expect human behaviour. Do not assign human intentions. And for the love of every kingdom represented here..." He looks directly at the first-years. "Do not mistake curiosity for affection." Several older students exchange knowing smiles. Apparently someone makes that mistake every year. Vale kneels and traces several lines in the dirt using the tip of his boot. "This." He says. "Is personal space." He draws a much larger circle around it. "This...is respected space." Then another. Much larger. "This...is survival." A few quiet laughs ripple through the group. Vale waits. The laughter dies almost immediately. "I wasn't joking." He stands again. "Every dragon is different. Different temperaments. Different habits. Different tolerances. But all of them communicate." He lets that sentence settle. "Not with words."

I immediately think of Rhyven. Or perhaps the way he rarely wastes them. Professor Vale points toward his own eyes. "They communicate with movement." A hand. "The angle of the head." His shoulders. "Posture." One slow step forward. "Distance." He lifts one arm slightly. "Wings." Then looks toward the empty landing platforms surrounding us. "And silence." The last word seems to echo across the basin. "Most first-years believe dragons become dangerous when they roar." He shakes his head. "No. They roar because they've already decided." A cold sensation creeps along my spine. "The dangerous part..." He says quietly. "Comes before."

No one speaks. No one even shifts their weight. "The tail stops moving." Vale continues. "The head becomes still. The eyes narrow. They stop watching everything..." He looks slowly around the basin. "And start watching one thing." He lets the silence linger. "If that thing is you..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to. Professor Vale turns toward the open sky beyond the cliffs. Without raising his voice, he says only— "They're ready."

For a heartbeat nothing happens. Then a shadow passes over the basin. Not close enough to see. Not yet. Just...A shadow. Instinct screams at me to look up. I almost do. Almost. "Vaelith." Professor Vale's voice is calm. "What just passed over us?"

I keep my eyes on him. "A dragon."

"No."

I hesitate. He waits. "A distraction."

Something almost imperceptible softens in his expression. "Correct."

The wind changes. Much stronger now. Closer. Somewhere above the cliffs something enormous is approaching. And for the first time since arriving at the Academy I understand that dragons aren't simply creatures that fight beside us. They're part of the battlefield itself. The wind reaches us before the dragons do. It rolls across the basin in heavy, uneven waves, carrying with it the scent of rain, smoke and something strangely metallic. No one moves. Not after Professor Vale's lesson.

The shadow passes overhead once more. Closer this time. The urge to look is almost physical. I keep my eyes forward. Around me, dozens of students do the same. Only when Professor Vale speaks do we finally move. "You may look."