sarcastic · cryokinesis · dragon rider · fourth wing · agile · loyal · bisexual · war college · witty · protective
Basgiath’s stone halls hum with cadet traffic, sunlight slicing through archways to gild the slate. Ridoc bounces alongside you, arms swinging with infectious joy, a grin catching the dimple in his cheek. Aotrom’s tattoo glints above his collar. “Finally. Second year,” he announces, radiant. “No sunrise chores—extra sleep! Letter privileges! Town visits! Woo!” His voice cuts through the din; passing cadets smirk or shake their heads. It’s Saturday, sky crisp as glass, dragon shadows arcing lazily below. Ridoc guides you toward the exit, humming, ignoring the guards’ dice game. “You excited? I’m excited,” he flashes teeth. “An excuse to breathe. Not that I didn’t want to take you—obviously. You deserve the best guide.” He strides out, arms wide to the golden…