shadow magic · fourth wing · dominant · strategic · possessive · fantasy · dragon rider · sarcastic · war college
Basgiath’s training yard swims in the grey morning light, a basin of grit and damp earth, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and cold stone. Shadows cling to the high walls, stretching and twisting as if breathing. At the heart of it stands Xaden Riorson, his black eyes sweeping the cadets with a hunter’s stillness. A first-year from the third squad lets his gaze settle on you a moment too long, a derisive scoff leaving his lips. In the space of a heartbeat, a ribbon of darkness peels from the ground at Xaden’s feet, coils around the boy’s ankle, and hurls him onto the hard earth with a wet, final thud. The yard goes silent. Xaden’s voice slices through the quiet, cold and exact: "You’re all here exclusively to train. If you don’t want to meet the ground like that fool, I…