Chapter 1
"Good fucking riddance." Franz tossed Clarice's rucksack at her. "Matteo and Hans will go with your brother. I'm not dog sitting."
That was for the best. Clarice bore a rebellion relic and had no choice but to attend Basgiath War College. She had turned twenty last September and knew her time was coming.
"I hope you fall off the parapet." He scoffed.
Clarice simply nodded and didn't bother arguing with him. She knew where that would lead and she didn't want to be injured before she even arrived. It was normal for him to say things like that to her, in fact, she had grown used to it. She didn't know anything else besides him.
"At least this gives me a reason to divorce you." He stepped closer to her. "If I had known what you were then I never would have in the first place you fucking dog."
"I know—"
Clarice stumbled back when he struck her on her jaw. She put her arms up but didn't fight him.
Franz grabbed one of her arms and struck her eye before throwing her to the floor and kicking her on her ribs.
"Get the hell out."
Clarice collected herself quickly, she had to. She slung her rucksack over her shoulder and left, heading towards the awaiting wagons. She sat down next to a woman with shaggy, shoulder-length black hair and neck tattoos.
"Damn, what happened to you?" She asked, scooting over for her.
"Nothing," Clarice murmured.
"I'm Juliana Ashridge, you?"
"Clarice Achamer." She kept her gaze on the floor of the wagon.
"This is going to be a long ass ride." A man across from them groaned.
Clarice looked up to see a man with shoulder-length reddish-brown hair, orange gold eyes, and strikingly handsome features. She sighed and her gaze returned to the floor.
"Are we going to have to listen to you complain the whole way, Revan?" Juliana said less than amused.
"We're all going to be complaining. It'll probably take us a month to get there." He sighed.
"Fucking hell."
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
They lost a few conscripts in the first week alone but she found herself getting along with Juliana and Revan. She could sense he was a werewolf but kept that to herself knowing all too well how people reacted to that information.
"So, what's your guys' home life like?" Juliana leaned back against the railing of the wagon.
"I'm from a family of aristocrats so it was great but it sucks ass it didn't get me out of being conscripted." Revan groaned.
"What about you, Clarice?" She regretted asking that question when she remembered the bruises on her face. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that."
"I mean I'm not married anymore so I guess it got better."
"So, you're avail—"
Juliana reached across and slapped the side of his head while Clarice rolled her eyes. She listened to Juliana scold him for what was probably the thousandth time.
"This is going to be a long month."
[~~~~~~~~~~~]
When they reached Basgaith they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Gods I can't wait to get a real shower instead of bathing in a river." Juliana followed Clarice off the wagon.
Clarice agreed but now they had to make the long trek up to the college. "I can't wait to get some rest."
"You must first cross the parapet." Dusk, her wolf counterpart, reminded her.
"Yeah yeah."
Clarice followed the line of people up the mountain. Despite the brutality of this place she couldn't deny it was stunning. She started up the long winding stairs and heard Revan complaining behind her.
"Do you ever shut up?" Juliana groaned.
"My body hurts."
"Jump off the parapet then."
Clarice cringed at those words. She ignored their bickering when they neared the top. There was a Scribe taking people's names and a woman standing beside him. "Oh..." the woman bore a rebellion relic on her neck and had dragon scale tattoos that spanned the length of both arms and what looked like claws on her hands. There were three stars on her riding leathers. "Gods.. she's attractive."
"Clarice," Dusk growled.
"Am I not allowed to appreciate someone's beauty?"
She got an annoyed snarl as a response and rolled her eyes.
"Name?" The Scribe asked.
"Clarice Achamer."
She felt the woman's eyes on her and met her gaze. She had coal colored eyes and what Clarice assumed was a permanent resting bitch face.
"You may cross." The Scribe ushered her along.
Clarice steeled herself for the long delicate walk across the eighteen-inch-wide parapet. "Fuck, I can't do this."
"You have no choice. Do not give Franz the satisfaction of dying." Dusk chided.
She started across and made the mistake of looking down. "Holy shit." She swallowed hard and took careful slow steps. The rain wasn't helping her keep her footing. She had made it halfway before she slipped. Clarice yelled and clung to the edge as her legs dangled beneath her.
"Pick yourself up!" Dusk growled.
"I'm trying!"
She slung her leg over the parapet and strained as she pulled herself up. Her whole body shook from adrenaline.
"Go!" The woman with the tattoos shouted, her voice carrying over the distance.
Clarice turned back to see Revan wobble and she grabbed him. She led him the rest of the way across for both their sakes.
"Thank you..." His breathing was ragged.
"You're welcome..."
She watched the other conscripts cross and or fall to their deaths. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Do not throw up. It's just the adrenaline."
Clarice tilted her head back and collected herself as she had done many times before. She felt a hand on her shoulder and her gaze met Revans'.
"I can't believe we actually made it." He hugged her tightly, nearly picking her up off the floor.
"Me either." She winced from the lingering dull pain in her ribs.
They stood in formation while they were assigned their Wing. Clarice was placed in Fourth Wing along with Juliana and Revan. They set down their rucksacks on their barracks bunk. The first years didn't get their own room as they weren't expected to survive and those who did get one had to be bonded to a dragon.
The first thing Clarice did was bathe and change into her black uniform. She laid down on her bunk and passed out.
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
For her daily chore, Clarice has chosen library duty. She loved reading but never had the time to do it back home. After, she attended morning formation and listened to Captain Fitzgibbons read off the deathroll. She hadn't realized how many people died crossing the parapet alone.
"Your name will not be read off." Dusk rumbled.
Clarice sat in Battle Brief between Juliana and Revan. Professor Devera stood at the front of the chamber with her hands clasped behind her back, gaze sharp enough to flay skin from bone. The low murmur of first-years died instantly when she stepped forward.
"Scenario one," she said. "You and your squad are escorting an infantry unit through a mountain pass. Enemy archers open fire from above. Your wingleader is down. What do you do?"
A blond cadet raised his hand cautiously. "Return fire?"
"Congratulations," Devera replied dryly. "You've identified the obvious."
Scattered laughter broke out.
She pointed toward another cadet. "You. Better answer."
The girl straightened. "Find cover first. Move the injured behind the rock line, then send two riders up the ridge to eliminate the archers."
Devera gave a single nod. "Acceptable. Never attack before securing your vulnerable points. Dead cadets are useless cadets."
She began pacing again.
"Scenario two. Night attack. Limited visibility. Your squad is separated during retreat." She stopped abruptly. "What is your priority?"
"Find the others?" someone offered.
"No." Her tone sliced through the room. "Your priority is survival. You cannot help your squad if you're dead in a ravine."
A dark-haired cadet frowned. "So we abandon them?"
Devera's eyes narrowed. "Did I say that?"
The cadet immediately shook his head.
"You regroup if possible," she continued. "You adapt if necessary. But the moment emotion overrides strategy, you become a liability."
She turned toward the map and moved several wooden markers.
"Third scenario. You're outnumbered two to one. Enemy forces are pushing your squad toward a cliffside." Her gaze swept the room. "What advantage do you have?"
Silence.
"The terrain," one cadet finally answered.
Devera pointed at him. "Exactly. Higher ground restricts movement. Funnels numbers. Forces mistakes." A small smirk touched her mouth. "The enemy's arrogance is often more useful than your blade."
One cadet in the back muttered, "Assuming we survive long enough to use it."
"Oh, most of you won't," Devera said casually.
The room went silent again.
She leaned against the table, crossing her arms.
"The purpose of these exercises is not victory. It's instinct." Her voice lowered slightly. "When battle begins, fear strips away thought. Whatever habits you build now are what remain when everything goes wrong."
A hand lifted hesitantly. "Professor... what if there isn't a right choice?"
For the first time, Devera paused.
"Then you make the least disastrous one." Her expression hardened again. "And you make it quickly."
The bell tower echoed outside.
Devera stepped back from the table. "Written assessments are due tomorrow morning. If I read a single strategy involving 'blind courage,' I will assume you're volunteering for infantry instead."
Several cadets visibly paled.
"Dismissed."
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
Professor Kaori paced slowly across the front of the lecture hall, hands behind his back against the desk as nervous first-years shifted in their seats. Rain hammered against the stone walls of Basgiath, and every cadet smelled faintly of wet leather and fear.
"Look at you," Kaori said dryly. "Still breathing. That already puts you ahead of a fair percentage of last year's class."
A few uneasy laughs broke through the silence.
Kaori stopped in front of the blackboard. "Today is not about battle formations. It is not about signets. And it is certainly not about your fantasies of becoming the next legendary rider." His sharp gaze swept across the room. "Today, we discuss dragonkind. Because the moment you step onto the Threshing field, ignorance becomes fatal."
A cadet near the front raised a tentative hand. "Sir... is it true dragons can smell fear?"
Kaori snorted. "Cadet, everyone can smell fear in this room."
More laughter this time, strained but genuine.
"Yes," he continued, "dragons can sense fear. But fear itself is not weakness. Panic is weakness. Dragons understand terror better than you do—they wield it."
He turned and drew a rough outline of a dragon across the board with quick strokes of chalk.
"There are six known dragon dens within Navarre's borders, though not all dragons choose to reside within them year-round. Each dragon possesses intelligence equal to—or exceeding—that of most humans." He paused. "Do not mistake silence for lack of thought. Dragons are always judging."
A dark-haired cadet frowned. "Then why bond with us at all?"
Kaori's expression sharpened slightly, as if pleased someone had asked.
"Because riders are useful. Because humans can wield magic differently than dragons alone. Because some dragons enjoy war." His mouth curved faintly. "And because occasionally, a dragon finds a human worth tolerating."
The class shifted nervously.
"Here is the first lesson every rider learns too late," Kaori said. "A dragon is not your pet. Not your weapon. Not your partner in the sentimental sense you've heard in tavern stories." He leaned against the desk. "The bond is an agreement between predators."
A blonde cadet swallowed hard. "What happens if a dragon doesn't like you?"
"Then you die."
Silence crashed through the room.
Kaori let it linger.
"Sometimes quickly," he added. "Sometimes publicly."
Several cadets visibly paled.
"You will hear stories from surviving riders about brave charges and glorious victories. What they often omit is that dragons choose riders based on qualities humans rarely value correctly." He pointed a piece of chalk toward the class. "Confidence without arrogance. Intelligence without cowardice. Loyalty without obedience."
One cadet in the back muttered, "That sounds impossible."
Kaori heard him anyway. "Exactly. Which is why so many of you won't make it through Threshing."
A tense hush settled again before another student carefully asked, "Sir... do dragons ever bond siblings? Or friends?"
"Rarely." Kaori crossed his arms. "Dragons avoid divided loyalties. Their politics are older than our kingdoms and twice as vicious." He glanced toward the windows overlooking the distant valley. "You think the Riders Quadrant is brutal because humans made it so? No. Basgiath was shaped to satisfy dragon standards long before you arrived."
A cadet near the aisle straightened. "What should we do when we finally face one?"
Kaori studied the room for a long moment.
"Stand your ground," he said quietly. "Dragons can smell desperation faster than blood in water. If you grovel, they'll despise you. If you boast, they'll burn you alive. Meet their eyes. Accept the possibility of death." His gaze hardened. "And whatever you do, do not lie. Dragons hate liars above almost everything else."
Thunder cracked overhead. Kaori set the chalk down with a sharp click.
"Congratulations, cadets. Your first lesson is complete." His expression turned grimly amused. "You now know just enough about dragonkind to understand how badly unprepared you are."
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
Clarice sat in the sparring gym while they were paired up with cadets totaling forty— two per mat.
"No weapons." A woman said.
She looked over and saw the woman with dragon scale tattoos standing at the front with her arms folded over her chest. That was the only good news but the feeling of dread Clarice felt remained.
"You must fight back. Allowing yourself to be beaten up is no longer an option." Dusk chided.
"I don't know how to fight."
"You will or you will die."
Clarice had been paired up with a guy from Second Wing who was twice her size. It was going to end badly and she knew it.
"This will be easy." The man laughed. "Wingleader, could you give me more of a challenge?"
"Do not underestimate your opponent just because she's small."
"Looks like she is your Wingleader." Dusk was referring to the woman with dragon tattoos.
"I'm about to die and you're worried about who my Wingleader is?"
"You will not die."
Clarice was glad Dusk had confidence in her because she sure as hell had none. They circled each other on the mat and he attacked first, catching her jaw with a devastating blow. She hit the mat unconscious.
"You have much to learn..." Dusk sighed.
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
She stirred awake in the infirmary and was met with a Healer with gold brown eyes. The pain in her jaw was manageable, after all, it wasn't the first time she had been hit.
"It will only hurt for a week at most and lucky for you it isn't broken." The Healer said.
Clarice nodded and slowly sat up.
"Your Wingleader, Svetlana, is waiting outside."
She sighed and slung her legs over the edge of the bed before making her way out of the room.
"Did you not prepare at all?" Svetlana asked with her signature scowl.
"I've been beaten up nearly every day of my life but never fought back."
The Wingleader cocked an eyebrow and stared at her like she had sprouted an extra limb.
"You're in for a rough ride, cadet."
Svetlana gestured for her to follow. "I'll find someone to give you extra training. I won't allow you to become a liability to the wing."
Clarice turned to her with wide eyes. "How the fuck did I hear you?"
"You must be a shifter too." Svetlana stopped outside the door. "What are you? I'm a dragon shifter. Only one here."
"Werewolf." She replied reluctantly.
"Oh?" Her face wasn't quite surprised but close to it. "Maybe you'll do just fine then."
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
Clarice sat in the dinner hall sporting more bruises after fighting two more opponents who, unsurprisingly, wiped the floor with her.
"Damn, you look rough." Juliana winced in pain on Clarice's behalf.
Revan faired about as well as Clarice had. He had a welt on the side of his head and a broken nose.
"I really should've trained." He sighed.
Clarice could hardly eat with the pain in her jaw but pushed through it. She took her tray back up front before returning to her friends. This place wasn't much different from her home life with how she was getting her ass kicked. She rested her head in her hands.
"You'll get better. Don't worry." Juliana patted her back.
"Gods, I hope so."
"If you let me out then you will fare better." Dusk chided.
"I'll consider it."
[~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~]
The following three weeks were hell. Clarice had to visit a mender nearly every other day due to broken bones and deep slashes from daggers that adorned her right bicep and left thigh. She sat on the mat utterly defeated and exhausted, staring at the dagger that was lodged to the hilt in her thigh.
Her gaze lingered on it and the frustration that had been pushed to the back of her mind for years had started to surface. After being called weak and a liability on top of everything Franz had ever said to her it was bound to blow.
"Let me take you to the infirmary." Svetlana sighed as she stared at the dagger.
"No, I'll be fine."
Her eyes widened for a moment. "Where'd this attitude come from?" She crouched beside her.
"You have a dagger in your leg. You are going." She said sternly.
Clarice grabbed the dagger and to Svetlana's surprise pulled it out and tossed it beside her. The agony shot through her and regret set in as blood poured from the wound.
"Goddamn." She winced. "You're still going to the infirmary, let's go."
Clarice got to her feet and limped her way to the infirmary, refusing help when Svetlana offered it.
"You're a stubborn little thing."
"Go fuck yourself." She shot her a sideways glare.
She could see a hint of a smile on her Wingleader's face but her focus remained on getting to the infirmary. Clarice left a trail of blood behind her and pushed open the door.
"Did you walk here?" The Healer asked as she helped her onto the bed.
"She sure did. Ripped that dagger clean out too." Svetlana leaned back against the wall.
"Don't do that again. You'll bleed out."
"She's stubborn, Lucia." The Wingleader replied.
"All you Riders are." She glared. "You can go now. She is in good hands."
"Never doubted your abilities." She left the Healer to it.
