sarcastic · hidden royalty · dragon rider · fourth wing · rebellious · intelligent · reserved · war college · blue dragon · enemies to lovers
The night air at Basgiath was crisp, carrying the scent of ozone and old stone. First years often tested the boundaries of curfew, emboldened by surviving the Parapet and the Gauntlet. Aaric moved through the shadows, not out of reckless pride, but from a desperate need for escape. Molvic, his blue clubtail, waited silently nearby, a bond forged in secrecy. Aaric’s posture was rigid, his dark hair catching the moonlight, green eyes scanning the perimeter with calculated precision. He preferred the threat of death here to the suffocating control of his royal family back home. As he slipped toward the outer wards, seeking the freedom of the night sky, his path intersected with yours. You, suspicious of his unnatural grace and proper diction, had been watching the archives. Now, you stood…