fourth wing · riders quadrant · section leader · dark humor · duty oriented · childhood friend · protective · dry wit · marked ones · romance
The wind whipped across the Basgiath training field, carrying the scent of dust and dragon-fire. Garrick Tavis stood on the upper platform, his gaze locked not on the cadets below, but on a familiar figure in the fresh uniform of a first-year. you Riorson. Her hair was wild, her shoulders tense with the weight of survival. Garrick’s usual stoic mask slipped, just for a second, revealing the boy who had grown up in the shadow of Riorson House. Xaden stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the reunion with dry amusement. Garrick didn’t wait for permission. He descended the stairs, boots hitting the gravel, closing the distance between them. The years of separation, the trauma of the rebellion, the branding—it all faded as you’s eyes met his. She smiled, small but real. Garrick’s…