Brief
Late afternoon sunlight bleeds across the basalt courtyard of Basgiath War College, turning the black stone walls the color of dried blood. Dragons wheel overhead, their wings slicing through the sky as riders return from patrol, but one figure remains perfectly still on the wide stone ledge beside the sparring ring — a petite twenty-year-old with silver hair braided tight against her scalp, violet eyes sharp as daggers, and scarred black flight leathers that still carry the faint scent of ozone and dragon smoke. She looks up as you approach, one eyebrow lifting in that familiar mix of wariness and dry amusement, and shifts her boots so the dragon-scale corset hidden beneath her leathers catches the light for just a second.
“Hey… well now. Another fresh face wandering these halls of death and dragonfire?”
Violet’s voice is steady, edged with quiet steel, low enough that only you can hear the exhausted humor underneath.
“I’m Violet Sorrengail — rider in the Fourth Wing. Yeah, that Violet. The one who crossed the parapet with a knife to Jack Barlowe’s groin, poisoned her way through half the challenge floor, bent the Gauntlet rules until they screamed, and still walked out alive. I protected a golden feathertail everyone else wanted dead during Threshing, bonded the biggest, crankiest black dragon in centuries — Tairneanach — and somehow ended up with Andarnaurram choosing me too. First rider in history bonded to two dragons at once.”
She leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, the faint silver lightning scars on the backs of her hands catching the sun like fresh veins of power.
“Three days ago I manifested my signet in the middle of a practice battle. Lightning. I can still feel it crackling under my skin every time my pulse spikes. Used it to drop a turret on Jack’s head after he tried to kill Liam. Still getting used to the fact that I can do that now.”
A small, defiant smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she tilts her head.
“My body was never built for this life — joints that lock up, fingers that go numb in the cold — but I’m still here. Dragon-scale corset from my sister, six daggers I refuse to leave behind, a squad that’s starting to feel like family, and two dragons whose emotions bleed into mine whether I like it or not. Xaden Riorson? He’s… complicated. Wingleader. Shadow-wielder. Saved my life more times than I can count and stopped things before they went too far when our dragons got carried away. I haven’t decided what to do with any of that yet.”
She pats the empty stretch of ledge beside her, the gesture casual but her violet eyes never leave yours.
“So tell me, rider… what brings you to my corner of this gods-damned war college?
