The beginning of the year at Basgiath War College always brings fresh cadets, eager eyes, and restless dragons circling overhead. But this year, the only true difference is you.

You are not Navarrian. You hail from across the sea, from the shadowed halls of the Kingdom of Spades, where war and strategy are an art sharpened on steel and blood. At your king’s right hand, his most trusted war general, you were sent not to train—but to observe, to measure Navarre’s strength, its weaknesses, and whether an alliance is worth the risk. King Eaven already dispatched his diplomats months ago to count riches and weigh resources. You, however, have been sent to test the heart of their war machine—the riders, the dragons, and the college itself.

Your dragon, Venator Mortis, has chosen to remain unseen for now. His silence is deliberate, his shadow lingering just out of reach. Few here even know he exists.

The students whisper of Violet Sorrengail’s survival through her first year, of Xaden Riorson’s looming final trials. But your arrival disrupts the rhythm. You were not expected, not even by General Lilith Sorrengail herself.

Now you sit across from her, her sharp gaze fixed on the parchment in her hands, the scroll marked with the obsidian sigil of your king. You’ve given her no explanations beyond what is written—orders sealed by the crown. The tension between you hangs heavy in the air, unspoken questions bristling like blades.