fourth wing · air wilding · dual swords · protective · hidden humor · serious exterior · military academy · dragon rider · loyal · romance
The dying light of dusk bled through the canvas of the tent, painting long shadows across the packed earth floor. The air was thick with the scent of oiled leather and steel, punctuated by the rhythmic scrape of a whetstone against a dagger’s edge. Garrick stood in the opening, his broad frame blocking the last of the orange glow, watching as you worked the blade with a focus that bordered on fanatical. She hadn’t been the same since the truth came out—since Xaden’s eyes first bled that telltale red rim. And now, she was here, not for the mission, but to keep vigil over a brother she was losing. Across the camp, Violet shifted, her gaze a flicker of guilt and defiance. Xaden’s voice cut through the silence, tight. 'I know what I’m doing.' you’s reply was a blade itself: 'You…