Chapter Text
To say I wasn’t nervous would be a lie. The tension in my chest was as tight as a coiled spring, and every breath I took seemed to slice through the cold, misty morning air. The chill seeped through my clothes, clinging to my skin like a second layer of discomfort. Before me, the stone bridge loomed—a narrow, ancient structure that barely spanned the width of a single foot. It stretched out far into the fog, disappearing into the mist so completely that I couldn’t see the end. The sight made my stomach lurch with unease. My palms were slick with sweat despite the cold, and I had to resist the urge to wipe them on my uniform.
“Name?” The voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and impatient. I looked up to see a blonde woman, a student who appeared to be in her third year, her piercing blue eyes scanning me with a bored expression. Her tone suggested she had already decided I wasn’t worth her time.
“Caitlin Riorson,” I replied, my voice coming out more breathless than I’d intended. The adrenaline coursing through me made my words stumble slightly. Then, bracing myself for the inevitable reaction, I added, “Before you ask, yes, I’m theirs.”
Her response was a roll of the eyes, a dismissive gesture that spoke volumes. Clearly, she was unimpressed, or perhaps just weary of the reputation that preceded me. Without another word, she turned away, ignoring me entirely as if I were nothing more than an afterthought.
I couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped my lips. It wasn’t easy being the child of renowned riders, especially when those riders were none other than Violet Sorrengail and Xaden Riorson—two of the most celebrated figures in all of Aretia. My parents weren’t just warriors; they were legends. They had played a pivotal role in leading Aretia to victory in the Second Great War against the Wyvern, a war that had nearly torn the continent apart. My mother, Violet, was particularly famous—or perhaps infamous—for her extraordinary feat of bonding with not one, but two dragons. This was unheard of, and one of those dragons had chosen my father, Xaden's dragon as it's mate, further cementing their unbreakable bond and the legends surrounding them.
It was a lot to live up to, and no matter where I went, I could feel the weight of those expectations pressing down on me like an iron shackle.
In one, out one. The mantra echoed in my mind as I took a deep breath to steady myself. “You can go,” the blonde woman said without so much as a glance in my direction. Her indifference was palpable, but I couldn’t let it bother me. I had more pressing concerns—like the treacherous bridge before me.
I took one step, then another, each movement slow and deliberate. The stone beneath my feet was slick with dew, uneven and weathered by time. I focused on my footing, careful not to let my mind wander too far. One misstep, and it could all be over in an instant. The thought sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
Aretia Academy was a place steeped in tradition and history, yet born from necessity after the war. It had replaced Basgiath Academy, which had fallen into disrepute following the revelation that critical information had been kept secret during the war. Despite the changes, many of Basgiath’s original ideas had been preserved when Aretia was established. The parapet, for instance, remained a key part of the academy’s trials, a symbol of the perilous journey every student had to undertake. Battle Briefing, too, was still a cornerstone of the curriculum. However, some minor changes had been made, such as allowing students to learn shielding techniques before they could channel, a precaution born from hard-learned lessons.
I was about halfway across the bridge when I felt it—a sudden gust of wind, fierce and unrelenting. It slammed into me like a wave, catching the heavy bag slung over my shoulder and threatening to pull me off balance. My heart leaped into my throat, and I instinctively tightened my grip on the straps, trying to steady myself.
But the wind wasn’t my only enemy. There was also the issue of my height—or lack thereof. If there was one thing I had inherited from my mother that I could have done without, it was her short stature. Standing at just 5’5”, I was taller than she was, but not by much. And in situations like this, that extra height would have been a blessing. My bag, filled with everything I might need for the day’s trials, felt like it weighed twice as much as I did. It pulled me to one side, making it nearly impossible to keep my balance on the narrow bridge. Two hundred feet below, the ground was a distant, shadowy blur, hidden beneath a blanket of fog.
I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to panic. There was no going back now. The only way out was forward, one careful step at a time. My parents had faced far greater dangers, I reminded myself. If they could survive the war, then I could make it across this bridge.
But as the wind continued to howl around me and the stone beneath my feet seemed to shift precariously, I couldn’t help but wonder—what if I wasn’t as strong as they were? What if I couldn’t live up to the legacy they had left behind?