Ryden

The walk to school is quiet. It always is.

Darla reads while she walks, eyes on the page, body moving like she already knows the ground better than anyone else. Years of practice have trained her to step over loose rocks and dodge the uneven terrain without ever looking up. To someone watching, it probably looks careless. But I know better.

She isn’t just reading. She’s listening. Feeling. She’s always aware of what’s around her—the snap of a branch, the shift of footsteps too close, the weight of a stare. It’s second nature to her, the same way fighting is to me.

That’s the difference between us. I meet the world head-on. She lets the world think she’s distracted, all while watching it more closely than anyone else.

The air smells faintly of smoke from the dragon forges, heat rolling in waves from the caverns cut into the cliffs above the academy. Even after all this time, the smell doesn’t sit right with me. Shifters call it home. I call it a reminder. This place isn’t ours, not really.

The pendant at my chest warms as we climb the last hill. Stronger this time. I press a hand against it through my shirt, more out of habit than anything else. Darla notices, of course, she does. Her book dips just enough for her eyes—one gold, one black—to flick toward me. No words. She doesn’t need them.

It’s not the first time. The heat comes and goes, unpredictable as the wind. Maybe it’s nothing. Perhaps it’s just one of those things I’ll never understand. Either way, I pretend it doesn’t matter.

Darla studies me for a beat longer before snapping her book shut again, the sound sharp in the quiet. That’s her answer. She won’t push, but she’s filed it away. She always does.

The academy gates loom ahead, the shifter emblem carved deep into the iron. Shifters pride themselves on building with nature instead of against it. Homes carved into the mountainside. Halls and forges shaped from the stone itself. Even the academy follows the same rule.

Two stories of black steel and stone rise from the ground, solid and immovable. If you look close enough, you’ll see vines climbing the walls, plants forcing their way through cracks like they belong there. Maybe they do.

Students are scattered across the courtyard, clustered at tables and benches. Some talk too loudly, some laugh too sharply. Most glance at us for only a moment before looking away. Others don’t bother hiding their sneers. They’ve never been good at hiding how they feel about us.

Well, all except Orin. I all but wanted to drive my fist into his face after the comment he made to Darla, but she’s never been one to back down from her own fights.

The once-loud conversations and laughter came to an abrupt stop as a strike of purple lightning arced past me. The air buzzed with electricity, prickling my skin. I met the eyes of Bellatrix.

“Oh, shit,” Darla chuckled from behind me. “You are so dead, Ry.”

I didn’t argue. She wasn’t far off. Bella looked ready to kill, her eyes blazing with rage as they locked onto mine. Every instinct in me screamed to step back, to prepare, to protect. But most of all to run.

Before Bella can send another bolt my way, I trigger the enchantment on my shoes and bolt. The students become a blur as I run smoothly past them, making my way in the direction of the training grounds.

I can hear her yelling for me, but before I know it, her voice fades away, leaving Darla behind to deal with the raging dragon. No doubt in my mind, Darla is not going to be happy about that, but I’ll make it up to her with her favorite meal later.