Aithne Melgren has been in the shadows too long. She has been forgotten, she has been ignored. But she goes for the Riders Quadrant in hopes to escape, to have freedom. To soar through the skies with her very own dragon.
But she has something speci...
Knowing I am in direct disagreement with General Melgren's orders, I am officially objecting to the plan set forth in today's briefing. It is not this general's opinion that the children of the rebellion's leaders should be forced to witness their parents' executions. No child should watch their parent put to death.
–The Tyrrish Rebellion. An Official Brief for King Tauri by General Lillith Sorrengail.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Welcome to your first Battle Brief," Professor Devera says from the recessed floor of the enormous lecture hall, a bright purple Flame Section patch on her shoulders matching her short hair.
This is the only class held in the circular, tiered room that curves the entire end of the academic hall and one of the only two rooms in the citadel capable of fitting every cade. Pretty large. There are many other things which might be large in this room, too. Like, perhaps, Xadens di–
Every cranky wooden seat is full, and the senior third-years are standing against the walls behind us, but we all fit in the end. Now, if I could only remember all their names. Because I definitely have some sort of memory loss.
I already know Ridoc, the smart-ass bursting comments here and there. He's easy to remember, because of the commentary of his, and how his name was mentioned as the person who almost fell off the Parapet but made it anyway.
"In the past. Riders have seldom been called into service before graduation," Professor Devera continues, her mouth tensing as she paces slowly in front of a twenty-foot-high map of the Continent mounted to the back wall that's intricately labelled with the defensive outposts along the borders.
I have no idea for the need for such a gigantic prop, that's barely going to help us. It seems as if it's a waste of resources. But I know better than that. My back tingles in anguish, but I force the feeling down because god knows what will happen if my father figures out that I felt something for once.
"And if they were, they were always third-years who had spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with full knowledge of what we're up against. It's not about simply knowing where every wing is stationed, either." The way she talks about us getting 'full knowledge of what we're up against' doesn't sit right with me.
It feels as if..she's holding back information. I squint my eyes at her, trying to discern any type of reaction, any giveaway, but I find nothing to the professor's chagrin. Professor Devera's face is a void of emotion. Something I recognize too well.
"You need to understand the politics of our enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot grasp these basic topics, then you have absolutely no business on the back of a dragon."
She arches a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown skin and looks directly into my eyes, as if accusing me. I level my stare at her with my dark brown eyes glaring back at her. I can see a white, misty figure dart to the front out of the corner of my eye. So I break the stare between us and whip my head to where I saw it.
