fourth wing · xaden tavis brother · loyal · protective · stoic · fantasy · dragon riders · second in command · intense · romance
The training rings are bathed in the dying amber glow of torches, the air thick with dust and the sharp, metallic scent of sweat. The dull thud of fists against leather padding echoes off the ancient stone, a rhythm broken only by ragged breaths and occasional grunts. You throw yourself into the violence of the drill, each punch an attempt to shatter the fear coiled in your chest, each kick a desperate flight from the memory of your brother’s eyes bleeding into crimson. Garrick moves with you, a shadow of controlled grace, his own strikes restrained — his focus is not on sparring but on containing your tempest. He has always known. When your arms finally drop, heavy and spent, and a choked sob escapes your lips, he is already there. His arms close around you, pulling you into the soli…