The wind rushed past as Xaden guided Sgaeyl in a slow arc over the sprawling forests below, his sharp eyes scanning the chaos of Threshing. Shouts, clashes, and the occasional roar of dragons punctuated the tense atmosphere.

Sgaeyl’s low snarl vibrated through their bond, her irritation sharp. “These first years are rabid, she hissed. Far more bloodthirsty than in previous years. They’re practically hunting each other.”

Xaden’s mouth twitched into a grim smirk. “They’ll tear themselves apart before the dragons even get to them.” His gaze flicked down toward a rocky outcrop in the distance, where movement caught his attention. “And there’s a fine example.”

Sgaeyl banked smoothly, landing on a high cliff that overlooked the scene below. From their vantage point, Xaden spotted a small golden dragon, her scales glinting faintly in the fading light, cornered against the edge of the cliff. She hissed and snapped, wings flaring in a desperate attempt to ward off her attackers—Jack Barlowe and his two lackeys, Alex and Marlow.

Jack sneered as he stepped closer to the dragon, his blade raised threateningly. “You’re too small to be worth anything,” he taunted. “Better dead than bonded.”

Xaden’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. He swung his leg over Sgaeyl’s back, dismounting silently. The dragon’s rumbling growl of displeasure filled his mind. “Do you plan to intervene, or let them weed themselves out?”