Chapter Text
Chapter 15: Letters Through Ashen Skies
Oscar’s POV
The Earth Dragon table was practically glowing. Lando especially , his grin had not dimmed since the Ember Crown, and his skin seemed to carry the shimmer of victory even after a whole day. He was radiant, laughing too loudly, clapping Carlos on the shoulder, spinning Jack’s chair until the rookie nearly toppled over. The whole team was still buzzing, drunk on triumph.
The noise in the dining hall was almost deafening, chatter from every table mixing with the clatter of trays and cups. Then, suddenly, the ceiling shimmered, a few balls of light flew above everyone's heads and when the light stopped moving letters began to fall.
A ripple of excitement moved through the room. Hundreds of envelopes drifted down in waves of pale light, each finding its owner like an eager bird returning home. The air filled with the rustle of paper wings and the surprised cries of dragons catching their mail.
Lando, of course, got buried.
Envelopes landed on his head, his lap, his tray. He barely had time to protest before half a dozen more fluttered into his hair. The Earth dragons table erupted with laughter.
“Of course,” Carlos muttered. “Leave it to our captain to need an entire postal service just for himself.”
Lando groaned dramatically, though the smug curve of his smile gave him away. “What can I say? I’m popular.” He plucked one envelope free, shaking his head. “Family, cousins, old teammates… oh look, this one’s from a baker in Ignireya. She says she named a pastry after me.”
Oscar leaned in despite himself, grinning as he watched Lando shuffle through the mountain of letters, each one overflowing with messy affection. Lando’s joy was infectious; every line of his face seemed brighter.
Then Carlos’s pile landed with a gentler flutter. He flipped through them casually, pausing at one. “Oh, what’s this…?” He held up an envelope sealed with a ribbon. Sliding the letter free, he chuckled. “A human girl. She…oh.” He raised his brows, pulling out a small iron key that clinked against his plate. “Well. That’s forward.”
The table howled with laughter, even Lando smacking the table as tears stung the corners of his eyes. Carlos just shrugged. “What? At least she’s practical.”
The laughter softened as Oscar’s small bundle of letters arrived. Just three. They landed gently in front of him, almost shy in comparison to Lando’s avalanche.
His fingers trembled slightly as he picked up the first, the neat handwriting instantly recognizable. Mother.
He opened it carefully, his eyes darting over the words as his chest warmed.
“Oscar, my dear boy…
Congratulations! We heard the news of your victory, and I cannot describe how proud we are. Your father and I cheered so loudly I think the neighbors in the next town must have heard us. You are doing more than we ever dreamed, and we miss you terribly. Every day we speak of you, wondering what you are doing at this very moment. The house feels emptier without your laughter echoing through it.
Oh, and one more thing… we keep seeing you in the papers, always at Captain Lando’s side. You two seem awfully close. Should I be expecting him for dinner one day? Do tell us, your family is very curious…”
Oscar froze. His face went crimson before he could even process the rest. His mother’s cheerful teasing burned hotter than Ignireya’s lava. He quickly folded the letter and set it down, ears ringing.
“Good news?” Lando asked lightly, still sorting through his own stack.
Oscar swallowed. “Uh, yeah. Very good news.”
Oscar tried to keep smiling as Carlos teased Lando about his avalanche of fan letters, but his eyes wandered across the dining hall. The other teams were tearing open envelopes with the same eagerness the Air Dragons laughing at doodles from their siblings, Max quietly setting aside an official-looking one with his father’s seal.
And then there was Charles.
The Fire Dragon captain had just picked up his own mail, no more than two or three envelopes. He opened one, his sharp eyes scanning the page quickly. Whatever was written there… it changed his whole face. His jaw tightened, his lips pressed thin, and a shadow seemed to settle over him like smoke curling from the ceiling. His expression wasn’t angry, or sad , it was ominous, heavy, as if the words themselves had cursed him.
A few Fire Dragons leaned toward him, trying to catch a glimpse. “Bad news?” one of them asked.
Charles didn’t answer. He folded the letter sharply, tucking it into his jacket with a finality that dared anyone to ask again. Then, without a word, he rose from the table and strode out of the hall, his hands pushing through the doors.
Oscar’s chest tightened. Something was wrong. He excused himself from the table, slipping out before anyone noticed, and followed the trail of heavy footsteps down the corridor.
He wasn’t surprised where it led.
The music room.
The door was cracked open, a thin stream of piano notes tumbling out , jagged, incomplete. Oscar peeked inside. Charles sat hunched at the piano, his back rigid, his fingers striking the keys too hard, too fast. The melody stumbled again and again, crashing into sour notes until Charles slammed both hands down on the keys in frustration. The dissonance rang through the room like a cry.
He knew Oscar was there. He had known from the moment the door creaked. But he didn’t look around.
“Sit down or leave me alone,” Charles said flatly, his voice edged with something sharp.
Oscar hesitated, then crossed the room and slid onto the bench beside him. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hiss of Charles’s breath.
“What was in the letter?” Oscar asked quietly.
Charles’s hands tightened on his knees. For a moment, Oscar thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, finally, he spoke.
“I haven’t been able to reach my brother since Valemaris.” His tone was low, restrained, but the frustration was there, burning under every word. “Arthur… he’s still just a boy. And my mother ” His lips twisted, bitter. “She sent me a letter today. Said I shouldn’t bother contacting him anymore. That’s all. As if— as if she can decide I don’t get to protect him.”
Oscar’s heart sank. “You think… she’s hiding him?”
Charles’s fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. “I think she’s keeping him away from me. And if Arthur… if he awakens…” His voice faltered, just for a heartbeat, before he forced it steady again. “If he awakens, he’ll be in danger. From her. From the people she works with.”
The weight of his words pressed down like a stone. Suddenly, Charles’s reckless fighting during the Ember Crown, his strange moods, his simmering temper, it all made sense.
“Have you talked to Max about this?” Oscar ventured.
A shadow crossed Charles’s face. “No.” He shook his head. “Max has his own burdens. We’re… not like we used to be. He doesn’t need my problems piled on top of his.”
Oscar wanted to argue, but the look in Charles’s eyes tired, haunted, silenced him. Instead, he just sat there with him, the unfinished piano melody lingering in the air like a wound left open.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Oscar couldn’t focus in class, his thoughts circling back to Charles, to Arthur, to the dangerous possibility that the boy might awaken alone, surrounded by people who hated what he was.
By the time the last bell rang, Oscar had already made up his mind.
He found himself outside Professor Rosberg’s office, his pulse quickening. He knocked, and when the door opened, the last person he expected to see was already inside: George, the Air Dragon captain, lounging casually in a chair with one leg crossed over the other.
Rosberg looked up from his desk. “Oscar. Something on your mind?”
Oscar hesitated, glancing at George. The Air Dragon only arched a brow and smirked faintly, as though daring him to speak.
Taking a breath, Oscar stepped forward. “It’s about Charles. He got a letter from his mother. She told him to stop trying to contact his little brother. He’s—he’s really shaken. And if his brother awakens as a dragon…” His words faltered, but the implication was clear.
Rosberg steepled his fingers, listening carefully. Then he said, calm and deliberate: “If Charles is truly concerned, he should meet her in person. Letters can be burned, words can be twisted. But face to face, he might find traces of Arthur , a clue, a location, something. If you and a few trusted friends are willing to go with him, I can cover for your absences.”
Oscar blinked. “You’d let us leave the academy?”
“I would,” Rosberg replied smoothly, eyes glinting like stormlight. “Some things are more important than your schedules. If Arthur is in danger, you may not get another chance.”
Oscar left the office with the words echoing in his head. It made sense , but it also felt reckless. Dangerous. Should he tell Lando? Max? Would Charles even want them to know?
When he finally pushed open the door to his dorm room, Lando was there, sprawled across his bed with his hair still damp from training, flipping through the last of his unopened letters. He looked up immediately, smiling.
“There you are. I was wondering where you ran off to.”
Oscar froze in the doorway, Rosberg’s advice still burning in his ears.
Oscar’s voice was steady as he laid everything out for Lando , Charles’ ominous letter, his fears for Arthur, and finally Rosberg’s advice.
Lando, who had been lounging casually on his bed, straightened instantly. His brow furrowed, and for a long moment he just stared at Oscar in silence, as though weighing a dozen outcomes in his mind.
“That’s insane,” Lando said at last. “Leaving the Academy? Going after Charles’ brother out there in the open? It’s too risky.”
Oscar opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, the door creaked. Max slipped inside, his face unreadable.
“I heard everything,” Max said simply, his usual playful tone gone. “And I’m not letting Charles do this alone. If his brother’s in danger, then we’re all going.”
Oscar blinked, surprised at the determination in Max’s voice. His heart warmed despite the danger of it all. He’s ready to throw himself into this for a friend… That’s so sweet.
Lando groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re both insane. Completely insane.” He paused, then added more quietly, “But I’m not about to sit back here while you run off into gods-know-what. If you’re going, I’m going.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “I knew you’d say that.”
---
The three of them brought their plan to Charles later that evening. His face was pale when he heard Rosberg’s suggestion, but there was a glimmer of relief too. For once, he didn’t argue.
“I can’t ask this of you,” Charles muttered, hands trembling as he held the letter again.
“You’re not asking,” Max replied firmly. “We decided.”
Rosberg, true to his word, drafted a convincing cover story: the Four Team Captains plus Oscar were being summoned back to Valemaris for a high-profile interview with the Council. The excuse would buy them time.
Not everyone was thrilled by the arrangement. George Russell, Captain of the Air Dragons, frowned openly when told. “This isn’t my fight,” he said. But when Oscar gently reminded him that he too had a younger brother — Kimi — George’s eyes softened. He said nothing more, though his jaw tightened with an emotion Oscar couldn’t quite place.
By the end of the day, everything was decided: they would leave at week’s end.
---
That night, Oscar sat at his desk by the window, quill in hand and his mother’s letter open beside him. He’d read her words a dozen times already: her pride, her congratulations, her teasing questions about Lando. He smiled faintly at that part, heart thudding harder than he wanted to admit.
He began his reply slowly, carefully:
He told her about the Academy, about the breathtaking races, about the roar of the crowd during the Ember Crown. He wrote about the strange, thrilling life he was leading among dragons, how each day felt like stepping deeper into a story he hadn’t realized he belonged to.
Then his quill stilled. He thought of Lando, of how the older boy had shone after their victory, how his smile had lit the entire dining hall. He thought of the interview slip-up, of the way Lando had admitted he spent all his time with Oscar — and hadn’t regretted it.
Oscar dipped the quill again and let the words flow.
And yes, Mother, you were right to notice. Lando and I… we are close. Closer than I expected when I first arrived here. He frustrates me, challenges me, pulls me into his rhythm without asking… but he also makes me feel like I belong here. Like maybe this world isn’t so strange when he’s beside me. I don’t know what this means yet, but I know I wouldn’t trade the time I spend with him for anything.
Oscar set the quill down, staring at the ink as it dried. The words looked dangerous on the page, like something fragile but alive. Still, he didn’t cross them out. For once, he chose honesty.
He folded the letter, sealed it, and whispered to himself, “Let’s hope she takes it well…”
The night pressed against t
he window, heavy and watchful, as if it too knew their journey was about to begin.