fourth wing xadens pov

chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Parapet

Gods, I hate this day. The tension feels thick and heavy, like a sheen that coats my skin, even two hundred feet up in the air. But we're riders and learnt long ago to school our faces, to not betray a hint of any emotion we feel, fear least of all. It's a weakness that's not tolerated in Basgiath.

Everyone dies. Fear just kills you quicker.

Still, I hate watching the young, innocent faces of the new year's intake. Hate seeing the anticipation and thrill of learning how to ride a dragon drain out of their eyes as they finally see the sheer scale of the walkway they must cross, just to have a fighting chance.

Last year, Command had me on the other side of the Parapet, inside the Rider's Quadrant. I can't decide which is worse. There, I would watch every cadet make it those final few steps to safety, see them jump down onto solid ground with their eyes burning with triumph and joy, knowing three out of four will be dead before they leave this hellhole.

On this side of the walls, I see the faces of every single candidate and hear the screams as they fall.

But at least there's just fear. I understand fear.

Today, I stand near the edge of the near-vertical drop, kicking loose grit and crumbling brickwork off the floor and into the valley below, the rocks eaten up by shadows before they hit the canyon floor. My muscles are tensed between boyish excitement to finally see Liam again after all these months and a horrible foreboding that his name will be etched on a tombstone before he ever sets foot inside the Quadrant. No, I shut down the thought before it can take hold. We trained together. If I made it, he can. I refuse to tolerate any other possibility.

I eye the moody storm clouds gathering across the horizon warily, wishing them away. We don't need to stack the odds against us any more than they are already. It rained so hard on this day, two years prior, when I faced down a different kind of terror: one for myself for once, rather than for every other kid my desperate deal had forced into this place.

Back then, the skies were almost black when I waited in this exact same spot, ominous clouds seeming to roll and gather momentum. It felt like they were coming straight towards me, encircling me on all sides and narrowing my field of vision to the thin edge of wall in front of me, a knife's edge between a chance of life and freefall. The rain came in sheets, wind whipping in every direction as I crossed the parapet, trying to put one foot in front of the other without feeling the eyes of every person in this place, willing me to fall.

It was only the weight of the one hundred and seven innocent rebellion kids on my shoulders that kept me upright, willing me to survive. I would make it across for them, prove it could be done. And give them footsteps to follow.

The clouds today look less angry, hovering on the horizon but seeming to hang back, watching, and waiting.

Seventeen have fallen already.

Another forty or so still to fall, by my count. If the rain holds.

The next cadet is carrying a pack far too big for his frame and doesn't look even nearly nervous enough. There's a fine line between fear that kills you and fear that keeps you alive. He's grinning back at another third-year rider, Emery, who's patting the promise ring dangling round his neck to wish him luck. Someone loves him. But I'm certain he'll lose his balance and fall before he's even halfway across the parapet.

I want to help him, want to push him back along the growing line of would-be riders and empty out his pack to give him better odds. But that humanity has long since been trained out of me in this place. You can't save everyone. Most people won't make it. Don't get too attached. I've seen people I've known for years, people I've sacrificed everything for, die in this place, despite my efforts. I cannot afford to split my focus and help people I don't even know are worth saving, no matter how many people are waiting for them to come home.