Ryden

Heat prickled along my skin under the eyes of the students as I walk past the rows of desks. The sensation fades the moment I step into the abandoned hall.

Ahead, a girl with raven hair balances a stack of books as she glares at a taller boy, who’s leaning into her space. Their voices are low and tense—an argument, maybe. Mid-sentence, the boy glances up. His steel-gray eyes lock onto mine, steady and calculating, before flicking to Darla the moment she steps out from behind me.

“Come on,” Aerisyl snaps, her voice slicing through the hush and bringing my focus back to our trio. She strides past us with clipped steps, heels clicking against the stone as she leads us toward the Elders’ chamber.

Neither of us speaks as we pass the couple, their whispers dying the instant we’re near. Aerisyl doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back, until she throws a warning over her shoulder.

“Show your respect to the Elders once you’re inside. Maybe they won’t punish you as harshly as last time.”

Her tone grates on my nerves. My teeth press together hard enough that my jaw aches. “I’ll respect those who’ve earned it,” I growl. “Respect isn’t inherited—no matter what anyone’s told you.”

Aerisyl halts so suddenly that I nearly run into her. She whirls around to face me, her once polished composure now cracked, showing the anger sparking in her eyes as color flooded her pale cheeks.

Darla sees it instantly. She never misses blood in the water.

“Aw, bless,” she coos, her voice dipped in sugar and venom alike. “Keep that up, Ryden, and people will think you’ve stolen her heart.” Her snark ends in a sharp laugh.

Aerisyl’s cheeks color for a different reason now, resuming her march without a word. Her shoulders are stiff and tighter than they were moments ago. Darla smirks at me, her golden eye glinting with mischief. I arch a brow at her, our silent conversation sharp and familiar: Did you really have to say that?

She shrugs, her smirk blooming into a full smile. “I couldn’t help myself.” Her shoulders shake with a stifled laugh as I shake my head at her antics.

We follow in silence. The corridor seems to stretch on for miles, the gray stone walls throwing back the echo of our footsteps. At intervals, tall arched windows cut into the stone, their frames carved with curling patterns that resemble scales and flame. Sunlight presses through the warped glass, spilling onto the floor in fractured beams. The glow warms the stone in golden streaks, but by the time it reaches me, it feels thin and cold; like all their promises, shining until they touch me.

A faint draft slips through the cracks in the panes, stirring the shafts of light and setting the dust adrift. The motes glitter as they spin, suspended in the air like stars shaken loose from the heavens. Beyond the glass, the academy grounds stretch vast and distant, dotted with empty training rings and shadowed courtyards. Trees sway in the breeze outside, their branches bowing and rising in slow rhythm, as though mocking the stillness inside.

The light never touches me. My pendant grows hotter against my chest, a thrum pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Each beat lands harder than the last, rattling through my ribs. I press my palm flat against it, willing it to quiet, but the pulse only grows stronger, alive and insistent.

The nearer we draw to the Elders’ chamber, the heavier the air becomes. Pressure rolls down the corridor in unseen waves, spilling from the massive doors at the far end. They rise from the stone like an ancient warning—carved from blackened oak, etched with glowing sigils that shimmer faintly at the edges. The hum of power seeps from them and crawls over my skin, causing goosebumps to appear across my arms.

The faces waiting behind those doors crowd into my mind whether I want them to or not. Ajax Callisto, with his frostbitten stare that can cut deeper than any blade. Theron Evander, calm and still in ways that unsettle more than open rage. Iris Helios, sharp-eyed and merciless, her gaze as keen as a knife. Seraphina Valerios, regal and cold, her voice known to silence even the boldest. And then there is Lykos Ignis—the war god of the dragons. His scars are not history written in books but proof carved into his flesh, earned in well fought victories Unlike the others, he doesn’t need titles to command respect. He has fought, bled, and killed for it. If I respect any of them, it is him—and him alone.

But no amount of respect given to them will change how they see us. We are not equals. We never have been. To them, Darla and I are curiosities at best, and mistakes at worst.

Aerisyl reaches the doors first. She doesn’t pause or glance back. Her hand presses to the sigil at the center, and the wood shudders beneath her touch. The humming deepens. The air thickens, squeezing tighter around my chest. The glow from the markings stretches across the floor, reaching toward us like grasping fingers.

My stomach knots. Darla shifts beside me, arms folded, her expression unreadable. Only the faint curl at the corner of her mouth betrays her amusement. She’s enjoying this—enjoying me squirm.

The doors groan open, spilling out white-gold light into the corridor until my eyes ache. The air inside hits heavier than the hall. Darla shifts beside me, her arms folding tighter as if it’s going to protect her. I’m sure she’s doing it so that she has a hand closer to her knives that she has tucked away. But her steps never falter.

The chamber is broad and the stone walls rise high, their surfaces carved with scenes of fire and war. Battles frozen in paint and chisel—dragons wheeling through skies, steel clashing against fang. The kind of history to remind people the threat us dragons hold.

At the center sits a table. Not polished, not ceremonial—just a massive slab of blackened stone, gouged and scarred like it’s borne witness to centuries of rage. Scrolls and ink-stained parchments litter its surface, weighed with dull stones and half-burnt candles. The smell of burning wax clings to the air.

Ajax Callisto reclines with a cloak of white-furred trim draped across his shoulders, frost ghosting off him in faint curls. His expression is cut from ice, his pale eyes lingering on me long enough to make my jaw clench.

Theron Evander sits to the right of him with his chin resting in his hand, his simple robes falling in clean gray lines. Stillness radiates from him; he looks to us for a moment before turning back to the parchment that sits in front of him. A man who doesn’t waste a breath—not even for us.

Iris Helios leans forward, chin balanced on steepled fingers. Her golden hair glimmers in the pale light, but her eyes are darker, sharp as a blade honed to the point of cruelty. Her gaze sweeps over me, then to Darla, and I feel stripped bare.

Seraphina Valerios wears crimson, her silver chain gleaming at her throat. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink—yet her presence presses heavier than the others. The quiet kind of authority. The kind you don’t challenge.

Lykos Ignis slouches deep in his chair, red hair wild, a scar splitting jaggedly across his jaw. His tunic is torn at the sleeves, which look to be stained at the cuffs, making it look like he may have just come from a fight. One leg hangs over the chair’s armrest, his boot dangling lazily in the air, while his arms fold across his chest. He looks bored already, golden eyes drifting as though he’d rather be anywhere else—but when they catch mine, they sharpen. Dangerous. Assessing. For the first time, I don’t feel dismissed. I feel as if he is weighing my value to determine just how much of an asset I can be.

Beside me, Darla’s gaze doesn’t linger on the elders. It flicks to the table—sharp, quick, the way she always notices what I miss. A map half-hidden beneath a stack of scrolls, edges burned, a jagged circle inked across the stretch of forest near the border. Her expression stays cool, but her golden eye narrows ever so slightly. She’s already memorized it.

The chamber had been full of voices when the doors opened. Now, silence settles in thick. The elders no longer speak, only watch. Some with curiosity, most with contempt.

Only Lykos lets the corner of his mouth twitch, as though this is all some kind of game.

“It’s about time you two made it.”

Lykos’s voice rolls through the chamber like distant thunder. He leans forward, the scar on his jaw twisting with his grin, while he twirls a dagger over his knuckles as if it were a coin. He then buries it point-first into the stone table, not once taking his eyes off of us.

“You’ve been a bad boy,” he says, chuckling low. “Fists flying in halls, rings, anywhere you can find someone stupid enough to take a hit. Reminds me of myself.” He shifts, bracing both arms on the table now, hungry. “But rules are rules, You’ve disrupt the pack and so you need to pay the price.” His grin widens. “I say we make it fun. A event. The girl fights, and the boy watches. Three hours. Whoever wants a piece of her can take it.”

A ripple of sound passes through the room — a low exhale from Ajax, a scoff from Iris, the faintest chuckle from Lykos himself as he leans back.

Ajax’s frost curls thicker, spilling from his cloak and frosting the edge of the table. His voice is cold enough to sting my skin. “You cheapen us with games. The boy is a disruption, not entertainment.”

“Games?” Lykos laughs, sharp and sudden. “A fight’s not a game. It’s truth. He’ll learn what his fists cost him. She’ll prove what she’s worth.”

“She won’t prove a damn thing,” Iris cuts in, her smile as sharp as broken glass. “She’ll be dead before the first blade strikes.”

Darla’s lips curve into a smile so slow it looks dangerous. “Dead in two minutes? That’s still twice as long as half your lovers brag about lasting.”

The chamber stills. For a heartbeat, no one dares to breathe. Then Lykos tips his head back letting a loud boisterous laugh disrupt the silence. Ajax’s jaw tightens. Seraphina’s fingers curl against the table, though her lips twitch like she’s biting back a smile herself.

Iris’s eyes narrow onto Darla, her smile cutting deeper. “Sharp tongue, little girl. Let’s see if it’s still so sharp when you’re choking on blood.”

“Enough,” Seraphina snaps, rising just enough for her crimson gown to spill around her like fire. Her silver chain catches the light at her throat. “We are not butchers. Punishment is one thing. Throwing her to the pack like fresh meat is another.” Her gaze cuts to Lykos, unflinching. “We do not feed our own to the crowd.”

Lykos grins wider, unbothered. He leans back in his chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, pulling the dagger from the table once more, spinning it lazily in his hand.

“Spare me your sanctimony, Valerios. Are we not dragons? Do we not pride ourselves on our strength? Our halls are carved and painted with all of our victories!“ He stops spinning the dagger in his hand, pinching the tip of the blade between his index and thumb.

“We prove ourselves with more than strength, Valerios. We prove ourselves with intelligence. With control. And he—” his chin jerks toward me, throwing the dagger in my direction, I don’t dare to move let alone flinch as the dagger lands embedded into the floor at my feet, his eyes blazing with more than blood lust, “—has yet to learn either.”

Ajax speaks next, voice crisp as ice cracking. “Strength without control is chaos. But… the circle has merit.” His pale eyes turn on me, hard enough to make my jaw ache. “Watching helplessly may finally teach you restraint.”

Theron finally stirs, setting his quill aside. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the weight of it presses down all the same. “Discipline must be decided. Let it be settled here. The majority decides, as it always has.” He leans back in his chair. “Ajax, let’s start with your vote,” he nods his head toward the frosty man.

“In favor.” Ajax drawls

Iris grins like a cat that’s hunting it’s prey “in favor” her voice sweet with excitement.

Seraphina just scoffs crossing her arms in front of her “Against. Strongly”

Lykos being Lykos has his signature smirk as his voice comes out rough and deep “In favor. Strongly.”

Every eye shifts to Theron. The silence grows sharp, every second stretching like a rubber band that’s about to snap. His gray gaze lingers on us, unreadable, his face a stone that’s been carved against time. When he finally speaks the words land heavy, sealing our fate: “In favor.”The chamber hums, Not in agreement. But as satisfaction. As if this was meant to be.

“There you have it,” Lykos says, pushing to his feet. His dagger was still stuck into the ground at my feet, forgotten. His grin is wide enough to split his face. “Three hours. She fights until she can’t stand. While he watches every second.”

My chest burns with words I can’t say. The air presses in heavy, thick with the certainty that no voice of ours will change what’s already been carved into stone.

Darla only smirks, golden eye glinting with a cruel sort of humor. “Three hours?” she says. “ That’s long enough to make a proper mess of them.”

Lykos's laughter rolls out again, booming, pleased. Ajax averts his eyes, ice dripping silently from his cloak. Iris leans back, smiling like she’s already watching Darla fall. Seraphina’s fury simmers in silence. Theron dips his quill again, recording a verdict that feels more like a death sentence.

And me? I stand still, heat crawling in my chest, knowing the pack has already decided how this story will be told. They will twist it so far from the truth. Darla will be seen as a pariah if she so much as falters in the ring; every single step she takes will be watched and calculated.

I hope we will be given enough time so I can prepare her as best as I can.