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I straighten slowly. Across the field dragons settle.

Riders dismount. Professors begin reviewing notes.

Rhyven speaks quietly with Dax near the command table. Already working. Already evaluating. As though the day hasn't lasted approximately three years.

Professor Kaelis gathers us one final time. No one sits. Mostly because I don't think we'd stand again. He looks across the exhausted students. "Today..." He says. "You learned dragon body language." Several people nod. "No." He shakes his head. "You began learning dragon body language." Silence. "You will study it tonight." A collective groan. "You will study it tomorrow." Louder groan. "You will be tested again next week." Cassian whispers something deeply offensive under his breath. I pretend not to hear.

Professor Kaelis continues. "Because one day..."

His gaze moves toward the dragons behind him.

"You may stand on a battlefield with one of these creatures at your back." He pauses. "And if that day comes you will not have time to be afraid of them."

No one moves. No one jokes. The words settle differently now. Because we've felt it. The wings. The heat. The ground shaking beneath our feet. The chaos. And suddenly I understand. The Council hasn't added dragons to our education. They've rebuilt our education around them. Around wards. Around formations. Around evacuation. Around survival. Around everything students should know if someone expects them to fight. I look across the field.

At hundreds of exhausted students. At professors making notes. At Chiefs standing over maps. At dragons resting among us as naturally as soldiers after battle. And for the first time since the Council arrived I wonder if they're preparing us for something they haven't told us. Or something they don't know how to name yet.

Chapter Twenty-eight

By Thursday morning, I hate dragons. Not genuinely. Obviously. But academically? Deeply. Violently. Possibly permanently. I stare at the page in front of me. A dragon's left wing lowers while the right remains partially extended. The tail is elevated but motionless. Its Rider is positioned behind the shoulder. Identify three possible interpretations and the environmental information required to distinguish between them. I close my eyes. "Absolutely not."

Nyra doesn't look up from her breakfast. "Defensive positioning, injury compensation, or preparation to pivot."

I open my eyes. "I wasn't asking."

"You were suffering loudly."

"I was suffering privately."

Cassian snorts into his coffee. "There was nothing private about that."

I glare at both of them. Traitors. Nyra takes another bite of toast. "You forgot environmental information."

"I haven't answered yet."

"Wind direction, nearby threats, Rider posture, surrounding dragons, terrain." She continues.

"Nyra." I warn her.

"And whether—"

"Nyra."

She finally looks at me. "What?"

"I love you."

Her expression softens. "I know."

"If you say one more thing about dragon shoulders before I've finished this coffee, that may change."

She smiles. "Understood." Three seconds pass. "The tail matters too."

I throw a piece of bread at her. She catches it. This is what the Academy has become. Breakfast. Classes. Combat. Dragons. Wards. Study. Sleep. Repeat. Somewhere between all of it, we're apparently expected to remain human enough to remember basic hygiene. I haven't decided whether the Council is ambitious or insane. Possibly both.

The bell rings. I look down at my schedule and immediately regret every decision that brought me to this moment. Dominion. Cassian notices. "Oh." He says.

"Don't."