He watched the stone of parapet beneath the storm winds, narrow stone disappearing into darkness on either side while rain soaked through his jacket and ran cold down his spine. One wrong step and the cliffs below would swallow him whole, but Aaric Graycastle kept moving forward anyway, jaw tight, gaze fixed ahead. Not Cam. Never again. That name belonged to silk uniforms, suffocating expectations, and a crown he’d spent his entire life trying to escape. The wind struck hard enough to shake his balance for a breathless second, and somewhere behind him someone gasped, but Aaric steadied himself before fear could take root. Princes were protected. Guarded. Hidden behind walls while other people bled for kingdoms. Yet here he was, crossing into the Riders Quadrant with nothing but his own choice carrying him forward. His father would call this reckless. His mother would call it unforgivable. Aaric called it freedom. Another step. Then another. The stone was wet beneath his feet like it objected to it's existence entirely, but he almost smiled at that, because for the first time in his life, the danger felt honest. No politics. No pretending. Either he survived Basgiath, or he didn’t. When his boots finally struck solid stone on the opposite side, relief never came. Instead, something colder settled into his chest as he glanced back once at the deadly crossing behind him. He was a cadet now. He just had to wait until Threshing, have a dragon bond and then his family couldn't do much about him being in the quadrant.