Fourth Wing/X.R./ The forgotten one

A Fight Worth Remembering

"Welcome to your first battle brief," Professor Devera says. She has a Flame Section patch on her shoulder and short hair. Honestly I might cut mine shorter, it'll help with fighting in the sparring gym. "In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation," Professor Devera continues, her voice echoing in the room then dying out like a fire. She paces in front of a large map in the back wall, roughly twenty feet high. The mage lights in the room reflect off her long sword that's strapped on her back and every so often glares in my eye. 

"And if they were, they were always third years who'd spent time shadowing forward wings, but 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 makes eye contact with every first year.  I wonder if she had wanted to be a dragon rider, or if she was forced into it like me. "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." 

"No pressure," Rhiannon mutters from behind me and the tips of my mouth slightly flip up.  

"We'll be fine," Vi whispers. "Third years have only been sent to midland posts as reinforcements, never the front." 

"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." Her gaze whorls around the room until it lands behind me, and then on me. Her eyes widen and for a second i'm worried one is going to pop out, but she just gives a small smile and nods. Did she not know we were here? "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." A scribe walks in and I freeze. That's Vi's old teacher. She was his best pupil and she was supposed to succeed him. He sighs heavily and even I feel a little disappointed. 

"It is the duty of the scribes not only to study and master the last but to relay and record the present," He still has his eyes on her and is rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he has a massive headache. "Without accurate depictions of our front lines, reliable information with which to make strategic decisions, and—most importantly— veracious details to document our history for the good of future generations, we're doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society." I don't know why but scribes have always seemed like the least interesting thing. But since Vi finds interest in it, i've pretended I do too. However, this whole interaction can put me to sleep right now. 

"First topic of the day." Professor Devera moves towards the map and flicks her hand, bringing a mage light directly over the eastern border with the Poromiel province of Braevick. "The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near a village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders." 

Shit. A murmur cascades throughout the hall, and I dip my quill into the ink pot that's on my desk. I start writing this down so I can make sure I have all the right facts to remember. 

"Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards have faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains." Professor Devera moves her hand and with a flick, the light expands. "Allowing the drift not only to enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight." 

My stomach sinks and a murmur arises from the cadets, especially the first years. Gryphons from Poromiel are able to channel powers, but dragons are the only ones capable of powering the wards that make all other magic but their own impossible within our borders. If we lose those wards, we are dead. But since nobody is getting their panties in a twist the problem might be fixed already.