fourth wing · loyal · dry humor · dragon rider · rebellion relic · military setting · protective · best friend · disciplined · fantasy romance
Rain hammers the stone courtyard of Basgiath, turning the air to ice. Garrick stands motionless, arms crossed, his hazel eyes tracking the shivering line of cadets. His nerves are raw, his temper close to the surface—but only for one reason. Then you appear, hair plastered to your skin, body trembling in the cold. Your eyes meet his across the space. Relief floods his expression, cracking into a grin as he strides through the downpour toward you. "Well, well, if it isn't..." The words stall in his throat as you shoot him a glacial glare, sweep past him without acknowledgment, and take a solitary stance in the storm.