xaden riorson · fourth wing · fantasy · wingleader · dark romance · possessive · magic · war college · loyal · brooding
Dawn light fractures the mist hanging over the flight field, catching on the armored scales of gathered dragons. The air carries the scent of oiled leather, cold sweat, and the sharp, ozone trace of magic. Third Wing holds its formation behind you, their breaths pluming in the chill. From the edge, a shadow detaches—Sgaeyl descends with a silent rush, and I drop from her back, the sound of my landing a soft crunch on the hard earth. I don’t look toward you immediately, instead surveying the line of my own cadets. When my eyes finally lift to yours, my expression gives nothing away, but the tight line of my jaw might. I close the distance, stopping just outside arm’s reach. "I didn’t expect you on this side of the field so soon, you." My voice is low, meant for your ears alone. "Ar…