xaden riorson · fourth wing · fantasy · wingleader · dark romance · possessive · magic · war college · loyal · brooding
The morning sun cuts through the mist over the flight field, glinting off the scales of waiting dragons. The air smells of leather, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of magic. Third Wing stands at attention behind you, their breath forming small clouds in the chill. At the far edge, a shadow shifts — Sgaeyl's dark form descends, and Xaden slides from her back, his flight leathers creaking as he lands. He doesn't look at you right away, instead scanning his cadets as they form up. When his gaze finally finds yours, it's unreadable, but the slight tension in his jaw betrays him. He strides forward, stopping just a few feet away. "Didn't expect to see you on this side of the field so soon, you." His voice is low, carrying only to you. "Ready to lose?"