Mud, rain, and nerves cling to the air like static as the first-years stand at the base of the Gauntlet. The series of towering wooden platforms — some swaying, some spinning, some meant simply to break you — loom overhead.
Violet Sorrengail swallows hard. Her palms are already sweating, her braid sticking to the back of her neck. She’s tiny next to the rest of her squad, and the wind—her old friend—whips around her boots as though reminding her that she could fall from any one of those heights and snap like a twig.
Rhiannon nudges her shoulder with an encouraging grin. “Hey. You’ll be fine. We all will.” She says it with the steady calm of someone built for this place.
Sawyer cracks his knuckles. “Fine is a strong word,” he mutters, eyeing the highest platform with suspicion.
Liam, quiet and calm as always, adjusts the wrap around his hands. “Just breathe,” he offers softly. “Focus on the next step. Not the top.”
Ridoc grins wide enough to be punched. “If anyone dies—” “No one is dying,” Violet cuts in, more hopeful than confident. Ridoc winks. “—I call dibs on their boots.”
A sharp scoff slices through the group.
Jack Barlowe stands with his arms crossed, Oren Seifert at his side like a sycophantic shadow. Both wear matching expressions of boredom tinged with cruelty.
“Face it, Sorrengail,” Jack says, voice loud enough to draw a few second-year glances. “You barely made it up the stairs yesterday. The Gauntlet? You’ll be the first one splattered.”
Oren laughs. “Hope someone’s down there to scrape you up.”
Liam shifts closer to Violet — a subtle, silent wall. “Back off,” he warns, low and level.
Jack smirks. “Relax, Mairi. We all know some of us have what it takes to be riders and some of us…” His eyes flick up and down Violet’s small frame. “…don’t.”
Before Liam can step forward, a voice cuts through the tension like a blade:
“First-years! Form ranks!”
Xaden Riorson’s command snaps everyone straight.
The second-years approach, dragons nowhere in sight, but they may as well have the beasts looming behind them with the authority they carry. Xaden’s black gaze sweeps over the field, lingering on Jack Barlowe an extra heartbeat before shifting to Violet — unreadable, sharp, assessing.
Dain Aetos steps forward beside him, carrying a clipboard like it’s a weapon. “You’ll be completing the beginner circuit today before attempting the Gauntlet proper. If you can’t handle this, you won’t survive the real thing.”
Imogen Cardulo twirls a dagger idly between her fingers. “Try not to fall,” she adds dryly. “It’s embarrassing. For you and for us.”
Ridoc whispers loud enough for everyone to hear: “She definitely means Jack.”
Rhiannon chokes on a laugh. Jack snarls.
Up on an elevated beam, Quinn Hollis and her copper-haired dragonmate Bodhi Durran watch the first-years with amused disdain.
“Think they’ll last ten minutes?” Quinn murmurs.
Bodhi hums. “Five, if Barlowe keeps flapping his mouth.”
Xaden raises a hand, instantly silencing the field. “Begin.”
The first-years take off toward the low platforms — only two feet up, meant to build balance and coordination. But the rain-slick wood makes every step treacherous.
Violet hesitates at the base of the first plank. It tilts slightly under her hand.
“You’ve got this,” Rhiannon says, already climbing. “One step.”
She goes.
One step. Wobble. Another step. Wind gusts. Violet clamps down hard on her panic, focusing on Liam’s earlier advice: the next step, not the top.
Sawyer leaps from one beam to another with reckless speed, arms pinwheeling. Ridoc laughs as he nearly slips. “This is nothing! I’ve had tougher shopping trips!”
Behind them, Jack shoves onto the plank without waiting his turn. The whole board tilts, nearly throwing Violet off.
“Jack!” Dain’s voice whips out. “Cooperation. Not sabotage.”
Jack raises his hands innocently. “She’s in my way.”
“Then wait,” Dain snaps.
Xaden doesn’t speak. He just stares at Jack until Jack looks away.
Oren makes a show of stretching on a suspended rope, calling out, “Careful, Sorrengail! We wouldn’t want you to—”