𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒯𝑒𝓂𝓅𝑒𝓈𝓉…𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈
Chapter One: Small Talk
Word Count: 5.9k
Warning(s): Iron Flame spoilers, death by dragonfire, depictions of anxiety attacks and unresolved trauma. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3
"There are three objectives for you, Elsie. Survive, bond, and show every fucking person in that quadrant that they have no idea who they're up against."
— Recovered correspondence from Lieutenant Xaden Riorson to Cadet Evelise Riorson
The turret was a godsdamned nightmare.
Of course, Elsie expected that. Over three-hundred conscripts were lined up to try their hand at the parapet before crossing over into the Riders Quadrant. There was no railing on either side of the steep staircase to keep her from falling, so she kept a steady hand at the wall and hoped that no one was stupid enough to lose their balance and send everyone else tumbling down. It'd be a humiliating death.
Honestly, that wasn't even the problem. It was just so…crowded. And Elsie fucking hated crowds, hated the feeling of being condensed, shoulder to shoulder, with large groups of people. It was just too similar to the prisons under Calldyr Castle all those years ago. Frankly speaking, Elsie would've rather been gutted than go through that again.
The line moved surprisingly fast, though, and every step closer to the exit alblowed Elsie to feel a little bit of fresh air on her skin — a soothing sensation, one that quelled her nerves just a tad.
She took another step forward, and another. Honestly? The most surprising thing about today so far was that no one had seen her and tried to hurl her into the open air. Xaden had warned of stuff like that in his last letter, the one she'd received a few weeks ago. He wasn't trying to scare her by any means; rather, he was being blunt. They were Riorsons. Children of the Great Betrayer. Naturally, people were going to want them dead.
To be fair, it wasn't like Elsie was making a good first impression herself. She'd been avoiding conversation for the past hour, electing to stare up into the sun rather than at the people around her. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about her presence, either; she'd gone sleeveless, her rebellion relic on full display for everyone around her to see. Maybe to her fellow first-years, she'd just be another traitor to the country. To everyone else, though…
They knew her brother. Knew his legacy. Knew the capacity of power a Riorson could hold. Xaden had been a wingleader — a notorious one, too, according to Bodhi's letters.
Behind her, she felt the brush of leather against her back, and gods, it took everything in her not to yank a knife out of the sheath by her hip and lash out against it. It would be bad form to kill someone before she even made it across the parapet, but to be close enough to touch someone who she didn't even know…
She peeked from her peripherals. The offending man had moved a few inches back. The exhale she let out was probably audible from Poromiel.
The line inched forward again, and she caught a glimpse of the open space below as she rounded the bend of the stairs. Fortunately, most of the candidates were making small conversation in the line. She did, though, briefly catch a few stray glares from below. One woman leaned into another to whisper something heated. A stocky man bared his teeth. Elsie just kept her gaze forward. It'd be worth it in the end, when she was standing in formation and their bodies were at the bottom of the ravine.
A blast of air hit her face, and she jerked her gaze ahead to be faced with the turret's exit. Thank fuck. She breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. No more cramped, sweaty staircases.
"Next."
Three riders stood at the foot of the parapet, two women and a man, and Elsie quickly studied them. She had no doubt the man was a wingleader, tall and tense with narrowed eyes — and she was quickly proven right as he shifted, his distinctive patch moving with his leathers. Another one was displayed just below it: some kind of flame with an IV below it.
Ah. Her brother's successor. His name patch read—
Well, son of a bitch. Aetos.
The bane of Xaden's existence was to be her wingleader.
The woman with the long braids was absolutely gorgeous, as if Amari Herself had waltzed into Basgiath just for a check-in. She looked less tempermental than the wingleader, but still strict. Perhaps she was a section leader, or a squad leader. She was strong, though, and she clearly knew it, too.
"Name?" she asked, her pen poised and at the ready.
Elsie adjusted the strap of her bag gently. "Evelise Riorson."
The third woman had just finished scribbling something onto her paper when her head finally snapped up to look at Elsie, and for a moment, she went still. Too still, like she was seeing some sort of phantom and her brain was trying to catch up to reality. Her hair, brown and silver, was braided similarly to Elsie's, although the latter's singular braid was clearly Tyrrish. She was shorter than the other woman by several inches, but what she lacked in bark, Elsie could tell she probably more than made up for in bite. She looked at the younger girl with wide hazel eyes. Elsie just stared back.
The exchange went on for a few more moments before Elsie's gaze dropped down to her patches, where she snagged a glance at her nametag.
Sorrengail.
"Oh," she realized, blinking. "You must be Violet."
The aforementioned snapped out of her daze, a mixture of surprise and a scowl gracing her (admittedly beautiful) features. "You…know me?"
Elsie raised her hands innocently. "You're important enough to my brother that you've made it into a few of his letters. He seems quite fond of you."
Why he was, she hadn't the slightest clue. Had Xaden forgotten that her mother helped kill their father? Did that even matter to him?
Clearly not. His words were direct and left no room for argument. "You'll probably want to hate her," Xaden had written, "but Violet Sorrengail is not your enemy. If anything, she's the greatest ally you'll have in the quadrant. Don't make the mistake of pushing her away."
Violet's face soured at the mention of Elsie's brother, and where she would normally leap to his defense, she found herself smiling wryly. "I know. He can be kind of a douche." She side-eyed the other two riders before she tilted her head, her voice lowering. "I trust my brother's judgment, though. He said you're…safe."
At that, her eyes seemed to soften a little, and she nodded. "That's up for debate, currently, but he's right. I'm not your enemy."
That satisfied Elsie enough, prompting her to slide a couple of steps towards the ledge of the parapet. Just before she could take her final step forward, though, cold fingers grabbed at her wrist, and her heart fucking lurched.
Her hand was ripped from Violet's grip not a moment after, and she stared at the older girl, bewildered. Had she lost her damn mind?
Violet remained undeterred and locked eyes with her again, leaning up a little to speak into her ear. "Find me later. Your brother left some things to me to give to you."
Elsie's jaw clenched, but she nodded in concession and turned her attention back to the parapet. Inhaling once, she straightened and peered across the way, towards the other end.
She could do it. Hell, she could do this in her sleep.
That sounded like a fun challenge, actually.
Elsie made a mental note to try it as soon as her boots touched the first stone.
⚡︎ ⋆.˚
Landing lightly against the other side, Elsie briefly gave her name to the other namekeeper before melting into the crowd. More than anything, honestly, she wanted to wait alone until everyone was called into formation, because small talk between people who undoubtedly would come to hate her would just be too awkward. Before she could disappear completely, though, a hand clamped down hard against her shoulder, sending her flying into a striking position before she really even had the time to think about it.
Then, she paused, her chest heaving slightly. Scowled. "Fucking hell, Imogen. Warn a girl next time, would you?"
Her foster sister didn't look the slightest bit of sorry. "How are you supposed to learn if you get a warning? You're twenty, not twelve."
The two regarded each other for a moment more before Elsie relaxed and fell into Imogen, who promptly caught the younger girl into a short but warm hug before pulling away. It was nice, she decided. Felt familiar, almost like home. Minding her braid, Imogen ruffled only the front of Elsie's hair fondly. "Gods, I've missed you. We have too much to catch up on."
"Yeah?" Elsie eyed Imogen's form. Her hair, blonde the last time Elsie'd seen her, was now a bright bubblegum pink that made her pale green eyes seem smoldering. She sported a few new scars, the most prominent carved across her jaw. Despite the change, she still looked so…Imogen, like the time she'd already spent at Basgiath hadn't changed her at all. "I'm just trying not to stand out."
Imogen scoffed, not unkindly. "Elsie, I hate to break this to you, but you're going to stand out no matter what. You're Tyrrish, you're marked, and you're a Riorson. Your brother has already made sure that heads will turn when someone says your name."
Elsie bit back a curse, but Imogen brightened. "Speaking of family..." She peered around the rotunda and nodded towards someone Elsie couldn't see through the crowd. "Durran! Get your ass over here."
Elsie's breath stuttered. She almost wasn't sure if she heard Imogen right. She half-turned, searched through the crowd, and felt her lips pull into an uncharacteristically large grin when she locked eyes with him.
"Elsie," her cousin breathed.
She was flying at him in less than two seconds. Bodhi caught her easily, moving with her so she didn't completely knock the air from his chest as she slammed into him. Her face automatically found its way into his neck, and he tucked her in further to hold onto her better. Elsie winced against his skin, tears pricking at her eyes that she fought hard to suppress.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"Nettle," he murmured, gripping her so tight that, for a moment, she found it hard to breathe. "Fuck, I'm so glad you're alive."
She almost lost it there. Nettle. The last person to call her that was Bodhi himself, right before the executions. In fact, he was the only person who called her that, since he was (fortunately) the only person to witness her trip and fall in that damned nettle patch when she was ten. She hadn't heard that nickname in…six years, now. It felt like a godsdamn century.
"Hi," she whispered back, squeezing him harder. "I'm glad, too. Thought I'd see you sooner."
Bodhi gently set his younger cousin down and scowled. "Cardulo wanted to be the first to get to you."
"It took me twenty gold and three pastries to get Bodhi away from the parapet," Imogen sniffed. "The gods know he'd have tackled you the moment you came down."
"Twenty gold?" Elsie couldn't help the way her eyebrows shot up. "Shit, Bodhs. Just say you're desperate."
He groaned. "Oh, don't start. You sound like your brother."
"And you sound like a freeloader," she countered, shifting a little as she fully registered the dirty expressions the three of them were receiving from around the courtyard. She forced herself to hold herself a little straighter. "That was a compliment, anyway."
Her cousin noticed the movement and leaned in to whisper in Elsie's ear. "Technically, we're not supposed to gather in groups of three or more," he explained. "That's partially why we're getting looks."
Looks was one way to describe them. Elsie was used to glares, used to judgement, but the seething hate and fear in some of their eyes was…new, to say the least.
"That's bullshit," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "When did they make that a rule?"
"The moment Melgren realized he couldn't see what happens when three of us are together," Imogen replied, flipping some of her longer hair from her eyes. "Command sees it as a threat. It doesn't usually apply until it comes to battle formation, but people are just too paranoid for those qualifications."
Elsie barely held back an exasperated groan. Gods, that was so fucking stupid. Just another thing that General Melgren had to go and ruin — her reunion with her family. She sighed, scrubbed a hand over her face, and then shrugged. "That's fine. I'll scope the place out. You go do…whatever you guys do."
Bodhi frowned. "You sure? It's crowded, Els. You can't start anything if someone gets mouthy, either."
"I'm not that temperamental." Elsie made a gesture that clearly said, What else am I supposed to do? "Anyways, I don't think someone would be dumb enough to start something with me today. We just got here."
"Don't count on it," her cousin warned, setting a warm hand on her forearm. "No two Conscription Days are ever the same."
Imogen snorted. "You're speaking in proverbs."
"And unto him, Amari proclaimed, no fucks shall be given from the barren fields in which they came," Elsie mocked, earning a cackle from Imogen and a grumble from Bodhi.
"Alright, prophet. Get out of here." Imogen pushed her away lightly with one hand. "Go make friends, or don't. If Hedeon likes us today, you'll end up in Fourth Wing, at the very least."
Elsie shot her a tight smile and ducked back through the crowd of people, swallowing the comment about Hedeon sucking her left one and choosing to aim for one of the walls of the courtyard. To her surprise, not many people were over there, sans a couple of stragglers who either looked too nervous to be a part of the socialization or disinterested entirely. She slid around another group and leaned on the wall, resting her head against it with a quiet sigh. Finally, some peace and quiet.
Well. For about twenty minutes, anyway.
One of the other loners, maybe four or five feet away, watched her from the corner of his eyes and shifted. "Not a fan of crowds?"
Briefly, Elsie considered ignoring him. She decided against it, though. She didn't need more enemies than she already had. "Nope. It's okay; crowds aren't a fan of me, either."
He chuckled and nodded. "I can see that."
So other people were aware of how marked Tyrs were treated. Hm.
Elsie frowned and gestured to the arm with the relic on full display. "This doesn't bother you?"
The boy shoved his black bangs from his face. "Am I bothering you?"
She blinked and shook her head. In return, he shrugged. "Then, no. We just met. I don't think I have grounds to be bothered right now."
Huh. That was new.
"I'm Lynx, by the way" he continued, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Lynx Evans."
Elsie crossed her legs at the ankle and continued observing the throng of cadets around them, just waiting for someone to start something. "Elsie Riorson."
Lynx hissed quietly at the sound of her surname. "Oof. I guess that's not quite helping your social status."
She let out a humorless laugh. "It won't. Being around me won't help yours, either."
"Eh." Lynx didn't sound like he cared in the slightest — also new. "We're both hiding from people back here. I never exactly had a social status to begin with."
At that, a small smile tugged at the corner of Elsie's mouth. "I think I might actually like you, Evans."
"I'm honored you think my lack of social energy is charming," he deadpanned. "I'll make note of it in my blind date applications."
Okay. Wow. Elsie bust out laughing, drawing more than a few eyes towards her and Lynx. "You're welcome. We'll find someone for you in no time, with that attitude."
"Meh." He made a face. "I'm not really into romance. Too complicated."
She nodded in understanding. "I get that." Then, for the sake of the conversation (because, fuck her — she was actually starting to enjoy talking to Lynx), she asked, "So why are you here?"
His eyebrows raised a little at the question, like he didn't expect anyone to care why he chose to be a rider. "My mother is a captain in the infantry," he shared, "and my brothers are both lieutenants. I think the infantry tends to be…arrogant, at times. Too strict, and sometimes hypocritical. So, I chose certain death instead."
That punched a chuckle from Elsie. In all fairness, riders were the exact same way — strict, with bullshit rules, arrogant because of their connection to magic, and hypocrisy? If she hadn't just met him, she would've ranted to Lynx for hoursabout how hypocritical the leadership was. But she couldn't without compromising…well, everything, so her lips stayed sealed.
"Fair," was her only reply. "Infantry is pretty iffy to me. Some of the people are stellar, and some of them are pieces of shit."
Stellar, like her father. Stellar, like his most trusted companions.
Stellar, like she would have been, if not for the disgusting people in power.
"Right?" Lynx chuckled and shook his head. "Like, my mom? The most incredible woman alive. My brothers? Gods, they're awful. I don't know if I'm the good one of the bunch, or if I'm just secretly a douchebag."
Elsie turned to look at him — really look at him. He wasn't too tall; perhaps a few inches taller than she was. Even so, he slouched a bit, shrinking himself as if the idea of eyes on him made him so uncomfortable that he needed to melt into the shadows on the wall. He surveyed the people in the crowds with a clenched jaw, the tension in his frame undeniable. He'd only made eye contact with her a few times, but his eyes — this pale, too-light blue — were the kind that looked like he'd been through the kind of things that you just didn't say out loud.
Kind of like her.
"Well," she suggested quietly. "I don't think you're a douchebag, if it matters at all. I think you're quite nice."
It probably shouldn't have meant much coming from her, but Lynx's shoulders loosened visibly. He was silent for a couple of heartbeats. "Thanks, Riorson," he said, a touch hesitant. "You're sweet."
Elsie startled. Sweet? Good gods. If that was his first impression of her, he was bound to be disappointed later on. Regardless, she thanked him anyway. "I appreciate the sentiment."
He opened his mouth to reply and then closed it again. "I think we might be starting."
Sure enough, the dais at the front of the courtyard had become populated with some of the people in leadership. A few people from higher command, certainly — the exact people Xaden had warned about. They respected her brother enough to make him wingleader, but the niceties probably ended there. The wingleaders were there, too, although she only knew of Aetos from Xaden's complaints.
"Well," she said, stretching out her legs until they popped. "If luck finds us, maybe we'll be in the same wing. If not, it was nice talking with you, Evans."
"Same to you, Riorson," he agreed. They both turned to watch the action up front. She squinted a little at the man who took the center. What was his name again? Xaden didn't like him, either.
To be fair, Xaden didn't like many people to begin with.
"Three-hundred and twenty-one of you are standing here today," he started. "Three-hundred and twenty-one. You've survived the parapet. Seventy-one weren't so lucky."
Elsie hissed. Seventy-one? That sounded impossible. The parapet was supposed to be the easy trial!
“As the Codex says, now you will begin the true crucible!” he continued, his voice rising. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”
Hunted. That was the term for it. From Xaden's own description of his first year, she assumed to be targeted by the majority of the cadets who personally blamed her for the events of the Apostasy. That was the safest bet, anyway. Better not to assume the kindness that most didn't possess here, anyway.
She remembered the speaker's name then, just from the sound of his speech. Commandment Panchek. An arrogant asswipe, apparently.
Panchek gestured to the line of professors standing at the doors adjacent to the dais. “Your instructors will teach you. It’s up to you how well you learn.” He pointed towards the lot of first-years. “Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved…” He grinned, and Elsie felt a chill go down her spine. “You don’t want me involved.”
Arrogant asswipe, indeed.
The formation changed, and Panchek was replaced by one of the wingleaders, armed all the way to her upper arms. "Good morning," she greeted. "I'm Aura, your senior wingleader. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”
She craned her neck and smiled to herself as she spotted Bodhi making his way up to the front. Her cousin deserved the honor of a leadership role more than anyone; after all, he was always meant to be the rider of the family, where Xaden and Elsie would've been in the infantry. Honestly, it was a surprise that he wasn't wingleader — but, then again, the quadrant had probably let out a collective sigh of relief knowing that a marked Tyr was no longer a senior authority.
Names were called, and honestly, Elsie was checked out for most of the time. She didn't want, didn't need, to know the names of people who were bound to die anyway. Xaden had been clear in that regard.
"Don't bother in learning names outside of marked cadets and your squad," he said. "Your loyalties lie within those boundaries only; the more people you come to know, the more you'll mourn. You and I both know that you don't need to be doing that more than we already do."
Blunt? Yes. Advocating for a heartlessness that Elsie didn't have? Yes.
Good advice, anyway? Also yes.
She came to not long after, when Lynx pushed off against the wall to stride forward. He flashed her a nervous smile, one that she only returned halfheartedly. Welp. There went the only unmarked person that she felt comfortable around. They must've been in Fourth Wing, already, though; perhaps she'd be called to a different section or squad, and then she and Lynx and Bodhi and Imogen could intermingle every so often—
"Evelise Riorson."
Elsie jolted a little at the sound of her name but quickly composed herself, straightening into that ignorant, aristocratic confidence she knew she could feign at least somewhat decently. She took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall, startling some of the people close by as she waded through the people.
The silence that followed was unnerving.
As was the way the crowd parted like a sea split in two.
There were whispers. Faint, barely even reaching the air around her, but whispers nonetheless.
"Traitor."
"Monster."
"Killer."
If that was how people chose to perceive her, then that was that. Still, Elsie refused to cower. That was apparent in how she gracefully slid into the formation under Flame Section, Fourth Wing. She honestly wasn't even sure where she had been called to; she just searched for Lynx, who'd straightened his posture considerably. In the end, she took her place besides another boy, much taller and slightly broader in her peripheral vision. A shaky exhale had her swiveling her head slightly, a spark of surprise shooting through her.
Violet Sorrengail was only six feet behind her. Elsie arched a brow. Was this purposeful? Had Sorrengail pulled some nepo-baby strings to keep Elsie under her watchful eye?
Then, Imogen appeared next to Sorrengail and waved her index finger in a circle, her message clear.
Turn the fuck around.
Elsie rolled her eyes and obliged. Then, she zoned out again.
Well. Until she heard it.
"Correction!" Beinhaven looked up from the sheet of survivors' names. "Sloane Mairi to Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing."
Sloane. Her eyes widened. She hadn't heard that name, hadn't quite thought about her in…years. Not since the executions, anyway.
She appeared a few moments later, her golden hair hanging long and loose over one shoulder. Like Elsie, her relic was on full display, and Elsie almost was tempted to call out to her old friend before Sloane did a double take and came to a full stop.
Not because of Elsie, though. She didn't even see her.
"No," she spat. "I refuse. Any squad but this one."
Elsie's brow knit. What? What was she doing?
"I don't remember asking for your opinion, Mairi." The other woman from before, on the parapet, jerked her head to the other first-years. "Get in formation."
Sloane sneered at her, and Elsie turned her head again, eyes narrowing.
It wasn't the squad leader that Sloane was throwing her bad attitude at — it was Sorrengail, who looked more than pained by Sloane's refusal.
"I can't be in the same squad as her!" Sloane's eyes were filled with absolute hatred, the kind that Elsie knew all too well. The only difference was that Sloane's was directed at Sorrengail — one of their only explicit allies in the entire godsdamned quadrant.
Oh, fuck you, Elsie thought. She raised her chin and cleared her throat sharply.
Sloane's eyes snapped to hers, and then she froze. Clearly, she'd not been listening to who went in which squad — or realized that her old friend was even watching in the first place.
Elsie's eyes narrowed, an order unspoken on her tongue. Get. The fuck. Over here.
Sloane held them for a moment, and, surprisingly, relented, slinking next to Elsie stiffly.
The silence lasted only for a few seconds before Beinhaven began reading more names, and Elsie felt Sloane's glare on her like palpable flames.
"Bold of you to try ordering me around."
"It wasn't an order." Elsie set her shoulders. "People are watching, you know."
"Are you forgetting who she is?" Sloane breathed, just loud enough for Elsie to hear. "She's a Sorrengail."
"And I'm a Riorson," Elsie murmured evenly, keeping her eyes forward. "I'm under orders to keep her as an ally. Besides, you were making us look bad. Quit it."
Sloane grumbled under her breath, but her little tantrum ceased as two more cadets joined the formation. Soon enough, nine other first-years stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Elsie, and Second Squad was officially completed. Would she make any lasting friendships with them, other than Lynx or Sloane — if she could rekindle their relationship? Probably not. Would she tolerate them all the same? She'd have to. The Codex did say that killing a squadmate was illegal.
The noon sun beat down on them all, and it didn't help Elsie's agitation through the pompous speeches. First, there was the continued You don't want to mess with me talk from Panchek, who was really getting on her nerves. Then was Beinhaven, with some honor speech that had both Elsie and Sloane rolling their eyes. Right. Because it was such an honor to defend the kingdom that wanted them all dead. Sure.
Then came Aetos…who, honestly, did an alright job. He looked a bit over his head, she noticed, like he was trying to overcompensate for the sake of the first-years. Maybe he would make an okay wingleader, but he obviously wasn't Xaden. If he were Xaden, Elsie could have actually taken him seriously.
She was snapped out of her thoughts then as the sound of beating wings erupted around them. Six dragons. Six. And, oh gods, they were beautiful. Two reds, a brown, a green, and an orange, all with glimmering scales and golden eyes that pierced through the first-years like spears. She dug her nails into her palm as they landed on the walls behind the dais where Aetos stood, knocking a chunk of rock off and shattering it on the ground below.
First-years screamed. Not a single rider flinched.
Gods, these people were insane.
There was a shift of movement next to her. Sloane.
"Don't you dare move," Elsie whispered. "They'll fucking torch your ass."
Sloane stilled, her hands curling into fists. She could yell at Elsie all she wanted later — as long as she lived to see later.
"A third of you will be dead by next July. If you want to wear rider's black, then you earn it!" Aetos demands, his critical gaze sweeping over the formation. "You earn it every single day!"
Elsie was having a hard time taking him seriously, but the notion shrunk as Aetos's dragon, one of the reds, leaned over his rider's head and exhaled a sheet of steam over the crowd. Eugh. She wrinkled her nose. If routine checkups were mandatory, then Aetos should've been court-martialed. His dragon's breath stunk.
Maybe it was disgust, or fear of the dragon's size, that had cries rising into the air. Elsie's eyebrows shot up as one boy from Tail Section broke through the formation and bolted for the parapet, his lithe arms pumping wildly. Two others followed from Third Wing. She let out a small, confused noise. Where the hell were they going? You couldn't just leave after crossing the parapet, right?
A low, rumbling sound snatched her attention back towards the dais, and this time, the orange moved forward a few feet, its sole eye fixated on the deserters as they neared the end of the courtyard. It didn't look quite happy, but not quite…disappointed, either.
The dragon tilted its head, its long tongue lolling out like a serpent's, and Elsie watched, flinched, as its throat began to glow.
Dread speared through her chest, straight down the center.
The dragon was going to kill them. And, from that angle…take the entirety of Fourth Wing with them.
"Get down!"
Elsie didn't have time to react as she was grabbed and shoved to the ground, narrowly missing having her head slammed back by the weight of a hand. Her eyes wrenched open just as a thick column of weaving flames shot above her — no, shot above them, screams piercing the air that made her soul quake.
Then, her gaze flitted from the fire to the boy who had her pinned to the ground. He'd been standing next to her for almost an hour, but Elsie hadn't really took the time to look at him since she'd been arrogantly ignoring everything since her name was called. And in return, he…saved her fucking life. He hovered above her, one hand under her head and the other propping him up so they weren't completely enveloped in each other.
He was…handsome, she decided, with a set jaw and jade green eyes that carried a quiet fire along with the horror that her own eyes surely shared.
Elsie just stared back. Their faces were less than three inches apart, their chests pressed together, and while she wanted nothing more than to kick him off of her, she found herself unable to move or speak.
Gods, what was the matter with her?
Just as quickly as it appeared, the heat died, and the world around her resumed. Sweet oxygen filled her nostrils, and the boy pushed away from her slowly, rising to his feet and staring up at the sky questioningly. Then, he turned back and offered Elsie a hand.
She should have scoffed.
She should have spit at him, told him to get the fuck away from her.
She should have done anything else, but her brain caught on the motion of his arm, and like a fool, she allowed him to take her hand and pull her to her feet.
They shifted back into the posture of formation, but Elsie heard him all the same. "You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice cool, soft.
She nodded once, her eyes fixated on the dragon that — fuck. At a glance, Third Squad was fucking destroyed. "Fine," she said curtly. "Yourself?"
"Alright." He didn't force the conversation past that, which she appreciated. But, just for the sake of looking courteous…
"You didn't have to do that," she added quietly. "But, regardless, thank you."
"We're squadmates," was his only answer. "We look out for each other."
…Fine. Elsie could accept that, she supposed.
"Get back into formation!" Panchek ordered, his voice rising upon the chaos of the courtyard. "Riders do not balk at fire!"
At that, Elsie let out a harsh breath. Dumbass. Whoever didn't balk was dead.
Oh, shit. She glanced to her right and relaxed at the sight of a completely-intact Sloane, who trembled violently. And next to her…
"Fucking hell." She couldn't keep the words in. "Sorrengail, you need a healer."
She didn't receive an answer, but Sloane tugged on one of her sleeves hard enough to get her to face forward again. Taking Aetos's spot on the dais was that vice commandment who'd definitely been mentioned a couple of times through the speeches, but not enough for Elsie to have paid him any mind beforehand. Now, though, as the orange dragon swiveled his head over the rider, she made three conclusions:
One: The dragon was his.
Two: It had killed those people completely intentionally.
Three: That guy was fucking insane.
It made her stomach clench. She could only attempt to try to save face when the major spoke. "It is not only the first-years that earn their leathers at Basgiath!" he shouts, glaring at the reeling older riders. "The wings are only as strong as their weakest rider!"
A girl from First Squad screamed and made a run for it as soon as more wingbeats broke the air, and the ground trembled under Elsie's feet. Briefly, she considered hitting the ground again, and her new ally most likely agreed from the way he locked gazes with Elsie again — but that was before she saw it.
Holy. Fucking. Gods.
Pure terror seized her as the biggest dragon she'd ever seen landed behind the formation and let out an earth-shattering roar, sending her pulse jetting. That's not what really made her want to scream, though.
The dragon was black.
She grabbed at her chest, at her heart, and forced herself to breathe.
You aren't in Calldyr.
That's not the same dragon.
You aren't dying.
It's not here for you.
Breathe, idiot. Breathe!
The exchange between the orange and black dragons went completely unnoticed as Elsie struggled to take a breath, icy terror coursing through her veins. She hadn't felt so helpless since…back then, probably. In Calldyr. It didn't help that the courtyard was in chaos, with first-years scrambling to get away from the dragons and riders trying to collect themselves as leadership ordered.
How the hell had Xaden managed three years of this?
With shaking hands, Elsie forced herself to stand stationary, to selfishly ignore everyone else around her in an act of foreign impassivity. That wasn't her, but it was the only way to keep her knees from buckling.
It was also the only way to keep her from scowling as Panchek took his place back at the front of the dais, his eyes sweeping over the barely-recovered formation distastefully.
"Well, then," he said simply, as if multiple people hadn't just been slaughtered. "Where were we?"
