Every year, hundreds die within the walls of Basgiath War College. It's no surprise that many are those who choose the Riders Quadrant. Dragons do not tolerate much, but neither do the ruthless gryphons on the outside of the wards.
At least...
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・・・ ・・・ ・・・
We don't land at Basgiath. Instead, we're called out to the northern mountains. I know what's waiting for me up there, even though Tairn doesn't want to tell me. Varrish. I'm not surprised to see Carr as well.
"What are you wishes?" Tairn asks as we close in. "I don't think I get a choice," I answer. "There is always a choice." There's not much time to think, considering our speed on approach, but I sigh to myself. "Land." This isn't about me. They're already investigating the feathertails. I don't need to give them yet another reason. "Just, if I burn out, don't let him live." "You will do no such thing."
Moments later, Tairn nearly crash-lands on the ridgeline, his talons destroying the stone and sending boulders tumbling down the slope. "Good evening, Cadet," Varrish calls from all the way down. I stand and force my feet to take me to Tairn's shoulder. "You've arrived home so late." "I'm still on leave for another two hours," I call back into the night air. "Leave from class, yes, but not absolved of your transgressions."
I sigh to myself, knowing it'll be more dangerous than its worth to try to argue that point. I slide down Tairn's foreleg, landing on his claws that grip the mountaintop. "I've pondered your punishment, so whenever you and your dragon feel ready," he continues, giving me that oily-slick smile again. "We shall begin." "There is always a choice," Tairn reminds me as my heart dares to beat out of my chest. "I can handle it." I have to.
An hour later, that sentiment is my only piece of hope. I've lost count of how many bolts of lightning I've struck down, lighting up the mountain range. "Again," Professor Car orders. A gust of ice-cold wind breezes over us like a saving grace. I don't complain, though, not out loud. I'm sure Tairn is getting tired of my explatives. "Again, Cadet," Varrish repeats. He's smiling, because of course he is.
Solas and Breugan are nearly falling off the mountain on the opposite side of the ridge. Tairn had snapped his teeth at them, maybe a few inches away from also snapping Solas' neck. I've never seen dragons scurry like that. "I wouldn't suppose you'd like to spend the foreseeable future in the brig," he threatens. Tairn's growl rumbles the rocks under our feet, creating a small avalanche somewhere below. Carr sends me what I think is a pleading look and I sigh.
I raise my hand—I ditched trying to wield with my glaive long ago, too weak to hold it up. Tairn's power rushes over me, torrential like a river, and I let it slam deep into my bones. It burns, but I already had my panic when it felt like that venin's acid almost twenty minutes ago. Now, I've started to grow used to it, despite the searing pain and the missing center of my vision. I can hardly see anything. The energy, the magic, bubbles like boiling water, and I'm not fully convinced my blood isn't doing the same in my body.
