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The first-years exchange uncertain looks. One laughs nervously. By the time they're halfway across the basin the copper dragon from earlier has already turned its head toward them. Not aggressively. Simply aware. Professor Vale sighs. "They failed."

The students reach the marker anyway. Confused. "What did we do?" One of them asks.

"You talked." Vale says. "You pointed. You kept looking back." He folds his arms. "You behaved like prey."

The next group performs better. They move steadily. Calmly. They keep their attention on the path instead of the dragons. Only one dragon watches them. Briefly. Then loses interest. "Better." Professor Vale nods. "They existed. Nothing more. That's the goal."

When my turn comes, I'm grouped with Orin, Liora and another second-year named Byron. We begin walking. The silence between us feels deliberate.

No one wants to be the reason a dragon notices. I remember every lesson. Keep moving. Don't stare. Don't rush. Don't challenge. The copper dragon barely glances our way. The younger dragon lifts its head. Its tail slows. Not still. Just slower. I resist the urge to look directly at it. We continue.

By the time we reach the marker, it has already lost interest. Professor Vale gives a single nod. I realize I've been holding my breath.

The exercises become progressively more difficult. Walking. Running messages. Carrying injured soldiers. Retrieving dropped weapons. Everything happens while dragons occupy the same space. Not interfering. Simply existing. Which somehow makes everything harder. "Again." Professor Vale repeats. "Your attention belongs to your task." Not the dragons. The task.

By the sixth exercise, I finally understand. The lesson isn't teaching us to ignore dragons. It's teaching us to trust them. Trust that if we respect them they will continue doing their job while we do ours.

The final exercise begins without explanation. Professor Vale walks into the center of the basin carrying six Academy banners. He plants each one at different points across the training ground. "Retrieve them." Several students glance toward the nearest banners. The closest ones. The easiest ones. I notice one standing farther away. Near the largest landing platform. Near Vyrael. Not beside him. Close enough that retrieving it will require entering the edge of his space. No one volunteers. Professor Vale notices. Of course he does. His gaze sweeps across the assembled students. "Vaelith." Every head turns. My pulse immediately climbs. "Retrieve the western banner."

I already know which one he means. "Yes, Professor." I begin walking before I can think myself into hesitation.

The basin feels strangely quiet. Not empty. Expectant. Each step carries me closer to Vyrael. He hasn't moved since landing. His immense wings remain folded neatly against his body. His tail rests loosely across the stone behind him. Not still. Not tense. Simply resting. I slow several metres away. The lesson echoes inside my head. Observe first. Always observe. Vyrael's eyes are fixed somewhere beyond the cliffs. Not on me. His breathing remains slow. Even. The tip of his tail shifts once across the stone. Calm. I take another step. Then another. The banner lies only a few metres beyond the edge of his foreleg. Closer now. His nostrils flare. The movement is subtle. Barely noticeable. He knows I'm here. Of course he does. I stop. I wait. Professor Vale never told us to keep moving. He told us to understand what the dragon is telling us. Vyrael slowly turns his head. Golden eyes settle on me. Not hard. Not soft. Simply present. Every instinct inside me screams to lower my gaze. To retreat. Instead I remain still. Not staring. Not challenging. Just waiting. The world narrows. There is only the dragon. His breathing. The wind moving between us. Several long seconds pass. Then Vyrael exhales. Warm air brushes across my face, carrying the scent of rain and smoke. He studies me one final moment. And does nothing. He doesn't shift. He doesn't bare his teeth. He doesn't lift his head. He simply continues watching. The space remains open. Permission. Not given. Not denied.

Accepted. I understand. Slowly, without sudden movement, I continue forward. I reach the banner. Lift it carefully from the ground. Every instinct tells me not to turn my back immediately. So I don't.

I step backward twice before angling away. Only once several metres separate us do I resume a normal pace. Behind me Vyrael never moves. When I return, Professor Vale accepts the banner without comment. "Again." He hands it to another student. The exercise continues. No one mentions what just happened. No one needs to. I catch Nyra watching me from the opposite side of the basin. She raises an eyebrow. I give the smallest shrug.

The lesson ends shortly before sunset. Students begin dispersing toward the Academy in tired, quiet groups. Several dragons take flight one after another. The sound of their wings rolls across the cliffs like distant thunder. Vyrael remains. Rhyven walks toward him. As he passes Professor Vale, they exchange a brief nod. Nothing more. No words. Rhyven reaches Vyrael's shoulder. His hand brushes lightly against the ancient dragon's scales. The movement lasts less than a second. Habit. Not ceremony. Vyrael lowers his head just enough for Rhyven to step beside him. For a heartbeat, they stand together in complete stillness. Neither one looking at the other. Neither one needing to. Then Rhyven climbs the stone platform. With effortless precision, he settles into the riding harness already secured across Vyrael's shoulders. No dramatic leap. No display. Years of repetition made graceful. The enormous dragon spreads his wings. The entire basin darkens. Students instinctively pause. Not because they're afraid. Because something this magnificent deserves a moment of respect. Vyrael pushes once against the stone. The ground trembles beneath my boots. Then he rises. Not with frantic effort. With impossible certainty. Within seconds, he and Rhyven are climbing above the cliffs, silhouettes against the late afternoon sky. I watch until they disappear beyond the mountains.

Only then do I realize Professor Vale is standing beside me. Without looking away from the horizon, he says quietly, "What did you see?"

I think carefully before answering. "His tail never stopped moving."

Vale nods. "What else?"

"He looked at me..." I hesitate. "Because he already knew I was there."

"And?"

I remember the warmth of Vyrael's breath. The patience in those ancient eyes. "He wasn't deciding whether to attack." Professor Vale waits. "He was deciding whether I understood."

For the first time all afternoon Professor Vale smiles. It is small. Brief. Almost invisible. But it is there. "You'll do." He turns and walks away before I can ask what he means.

I remain where I am, watching the empty sky where Vyrael disappeared. I came here expecting to learn about dragons. Instead I learned that respect begins long before trust. And perhaps trust begins long before words.

Chapter Twenty-one

Professor Aldren has an unfortunate talent. He can make two hours feel like six. "...and if any of you submit another essay claiming the First Accord unified the Six Kingdoms through diplomacy alone..." He closes his book with a decisive thud. "I will personally ensure you spend your next free weekend rewriting every treaty signed before the Academy was founded." A collective groan ripples through the classroom. Professor Aldren smiles. Not kindly. "I look forward to reading your work."

The bell echoes through the lecture hall. Students immediately begin gathering books, scrolls and inkpots. Nyra stretches beside me. "I've decided."

I glance up from stuffing my notes into my satchel. "Should I be worried?"

"Probably." She smiles. "I think Professor Aldren secretly enjoys watching us suffer."

"I thought we'd already established that."

She nods. "We did." She swings her satchel over one shoulder. "I'm simply confirming my hypothesis."