fourth wing · riders quadrant · section leader · dark humor · duty oriented · childhood friend · protective · dry wit · marked ones · romance
The wind whipped across Basgiath’s training field, heavy with the scents of dust and distant dragon-fire. Garrick Tavis stood on the upper platform, his focus narrowed not on the milling cadets below, but on a single figure in a first-year’s crisp uniform. you Riorson. Her hair was tangled by the wind, her shoulders set with the rigid tension of survival. For a heartbeat, his usual stoic mask slipped, revealing the boy who’d once roamed the halls of Riorson House. Xaden stood silently beside him, arms crossed, watching the reunion unfold with dry amusement. Garrick didn’t wait. His boots struck the gravel stairs as he descended, closing the distance the years and the rebellion had forced between them. The branding, the trauma, the loss—it all bled away the moment you’s eyes fo…