Fourth Wing: The Beginning

•°•▪︎|CHAPTER 1|▪︎•°•

Conscription day was the day I hated the most. Why? Because to many people die on this day, and today is no exception and to make matters worse, I might die today too because of this horrible day. Violet always told me not to think so negatively about such things. But did I ever listen to her? No, not really.

Anyway, I was currently walking towards the bottom of the wide staircase of the stone fortress I learned to call home. As I arrive at the bottom of it, I position myself on Violet's right taking a good look at her before we have to enter the lion's den as I like to call it. She's wearing the typical clothes a scribe would wear, even if we both knew that that was indeed not going to happen. "You ready?" I ask her, while tightening the straps of my rucksack. She turns her head towards me, took a long breath and then answered, "As ready as I can ever be". I managed a weak smile trying to reassure her. "It's gonna be fine, don't worry"

We both took a last look outside, then turned around and trudged up the set of stairs before us. As we climb the stairs, I don't fail to notice how Violet's chest heaves with exertion and how her lungs seem to burn by the time we reach the stone corridor leading to the lion's den, also known as General Sorrengail's office.

That was what six intense physical training gave her -- the ability to barley climb six flights of stairs with a thirty-pound pack. She was so fucked, and I think she came to the same realisation, because she let out a frustrated breath.

I know what you're thinking: How are you doing after six flights of stairs? Well, I'm pretty proud to tell you that I have no problem whatsoever. The reason? I was trained in the most intense and physical way possible for my whole life. So a few sets of stairs aren't really my problem.

The thousands of twenty-year-olds waiting outside the gate to enter their chosen quadrant for service are the smartest and strongest in Navarre. Hundreds of them have been preparing for the Riders Quadrant, the chance to become one of the elite, since birth. Just like me. But not like Violet, she was supposed to become a scribe and live a relatively normal and peaceful life. Saying that I'm worried about her is an understatement.

The expressionless guards lining the wide hallway at the top of the landing avoid our eyes as we pass, but that's nothing new. Besides, being ignored is the best possible scenario for us.

Basgiath War College isn't known for being kind to...well, anyone, even those of us whose mothers are in command. In my case stepmother. Every Navarrian officer, whether they choose to be schooled as healers, scribes, infantry, or riders, is molded within these cruel walls over three years, honed into weapons to secure our mountainous borders from the violent invasion attempts of the kingdom of Poromiel and their gryphon riders.

The weak don't survive here, especially not in the Riders Quadrant. The dragons make sure of that. Yeah, you read right, dragons.

"You're sending her to die! And Ophelia shouldn't have to do this either" a familiar voice thunders through the general's thick wooden door, and I gasp. There's only one woman on the Continent foolish enough to raise her voice to the general, but she's supposed to be on the border with the Eastern Wing. Mira.

There's a muffled response from the office, and Violet reaches for the door handle. "She doesn't stand a chance," Mira shouts as Violet forces the heavy door open and the weight of her pack shifts forward, nearly taking her down.

Shit.

The general curses from behind her desk, and Violet grabs onto the back of the crimson-upholstered couch to catch her balance and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

​"Damn it, Mom, she can't even handle her rucksack," Mira snaps, rushing to her side like I did. "I'm fine!" Her cheeks heat with mortification, and she forces herself upright. I frown, knowing very well what she was thinking and how she was feeling.