Child of Ardor

v

"Welcome to your first Battle Brief," Professor Devera says from the recessed floor of the enormous lecture hall, later in the morning, a bright purple Flame Section patch on her shoulder matching her short hair perfectly.

This is the only class held in the circular, tiered room that curves the entire end of the academic hall and one of only two rooms in the citadel capable of fitting every cadet. Every creaky wooden seat is full. The senior third-years are standing against the walls behind us, but we all fit.

It's a far cry from history last hour, where there were only three squads of first-years, but at least the first-years in our squad are all seated together.

I hadn't learned too many names yet due to the fact that no one really wants to talk to me, being Xaden Riorson baby sister, so I've just kinda stuck with the people I know previously and it's been fine like that for me.

Ridoc's name is easy to remember — he cracked wise-ass comments all through history. Hopefully he knows better than to try the same in here, though, from what I've heard, Professor Devera isn't the joking kind nor is her class.

"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 labeled with our defensive outposts along our borders. Dozens of mage lights illuminate the space, more than making up for the lack of windows and reflecting off the longsword she keeps strapped to her back. "And if they were, they were always third-years who'd spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we're up against. It's not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either." She takes her time, making eye contact with every first-year she sees.

Her eyes falter when she gets to me, but I cross my arms over my chest and make a scowl with my lips to show that I'm not one you can just push around. I may not be mean like my brother, but you still don't want to mess with me.

The rank on her shoulder says captain, but I know she'll be a major before she leaves her rotation teaching here, given the medals pinned on her chest.

"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 no business on the back of a dragon." She arches a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown skin.

"No pressure," Rhiannon mutters behind me to Violet and I could hear the scribbling of her pencil as she jots stuff down furiously taking notes.

"We'll be fine," Violet promised her in a whisper. "Third-years have only been sent to midland posts as reinforcements, never the front."

How am I always near them?

No matter what happens it seems like I am always next to Violet and her gaggle of friends — including Dain who pisses me off a lot.

"This is the only class you will have every day, because it's the only class that will matter if you're called into service early." Professor Devera's gaze sweeps from left to right and pauses on me someone behind me — Violet. "Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves nothing but your utmost respect."

Professor Markham the head scribe.

When I was younger, the only thing I dreamt about was entering any quadrant. So naturally, I learned everything there was to learn about each one so I was sure that when I made my decision it was going to be the right one.