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When Bodhi bonds with Cuir, he’s just committed murder for the first time, on his knees on the forest floor with a puddle of vomit in front of him. He’s heaving, trying to wipe the memory of the woman he’d killed from his mind, but it feels impossible when her blood is covering his clothing. He hadn’t wanted to kill her, but she’d ambushed him, and it was kill or be killed. He wanted to live; wanted to survive, and so he made the tough call.
He thinks about how he angled his dagger just so to make her death as clean and painless as possible. She was trying to fucking kill him, and yet he still tried to spare her as much pain and misery as possible. He’s never wanted to be a cold-hearted, stoic man like his cousin, but maybe Xaden is right. Maybe it’s better to be that way. Because at least people would view him as strong. The way he is now, he can’t win either way. He’s not soft enough, but he isn’t strong enough either. He can kill if he needs to, but he can’t deal with the aftermath like a man. It leaves him feeling wholly inadequate. He’s going to leave this valley unbonded, isn’t he?
He wonders what his mom would think of him if she saw him here, on his knees, trying not to cry.
Lost in his blurry-eyed, slightly feverish headspace, Bodhi doesn’t even notice the dragon until he feels its hot breath along his back. He freezes, tensing up, thoughts of I’m going to die running through his head. He hears a chuff behind him, the dragon nudging his back lightly, before Bodhi hears it in his head.
You’re not going to die, soft one. I wouldn’t kill my chosen rider, would I? Bodhi lets out an involuntary gasp.
“Chosen…rider?” He turns his head to see a sleek, green dragon with impressive spikes and a deadly swordtail. It seems to be smirking at him. He blinks, nerves taking over his rational mind, and in that few seconds, the dragon grabs the neck of Bodhi’s tunic to lift him away from his sick and place him on his feet. He sways back and forth for a moment before its snout steadies him.
Yes, chosen rider. I am choosing you, Bodhi Durran, as my rider. And stop thinking of me as ‘it.’ My name is Cuirkelgard, daughter of Bortekaar, granddaughter of Yisleanog. And you are my rider.
“O-okay,” Bodhi stutters. “B-but why? You just watched me throw up.” He knows you aren’t supposed to question a dragon, but he truly doesn’t get it. Why would she want him?
What you have shown me today, soft one, is that you are capable of killing when necessary, but that you retain your soft soul and heart when you must take that step. You are capable, but resistant to corruption. And that is what I have been looking for in a rider.
Bodhi can’t claim to fully understand that sentiment yet, but he accepts it with a slow grin, gratitude and pride racing through his veins as he mounts Cuir, and they take off as dragon and rider for the first of many times.
When Bodhi’s signet manifests, he’s on the verge of a shutdown. Everything is loud in the cafeteria, and the clattering of forks and knives and spoons is becoming a torture-chorus worming its way into his eardrums. It doesn’t help that Garrick and Xaden are bickering over his head, both trying to impress the girls at the other side of the table with their signets. Gusts of air and bands of shadows race back and forth, causing Bodhi’s vision to blur.
This has always been his life; trying to participate in society until it just became too much. He’s wondered many times if there is something wrong with him, but Cuir always stops the thought in its tracks, telling him that she chose him because of his ability to be both strong and soft. But sometimes, he wonders if he’s really just soft with a practiced ability to appear strong. Cuir says it’s the same thing, but he’s not so sure.
It’s when Garrick accidentally hits Bodhi’s shoulder, the touch finally breaking the dam of frustration building up inside Bodhi, that he cries out in mental anguish. Just make it stop! He doesn’t know who he’s asking, or why he’s begging. But he feels the pull to implore the skies.
Only seconds later, Garrick’s air vanishes. Xaden’s shadows race back to their master and then snap out of existence. Bodhi’s friends look at him with wide eyes, and Bodhi stares right back. What just happened?
You manifested, soft one, comes Cuir’s gentle voice in his head. You have Signet Countering.
Deep down, Bodhi knows she speaks gently because that is who she is, but he can’t help feeling like she’s trying to soften the blow. Signet Countering? What kind of fucking useless signet is that? Bodhi grimaces. He’ll be useless in combat. He’ll be useless in interrogation. He’ll be useless in all but training cadets, and even that will only be in some cases. Besides, he can’t get stuck here at Basgiath. He needs to be out in the world with Xaden and Garrick, once they all graduate (and they will all graduate, he’s sure of it.)
He’s dreamed about what his signet could be. It’s the one bright side of this whole forced-into-the-Rider’s-quadrant thing. He was excited to get his own type of powerful magic! And now the day has come, and he’s just a fucking Signet Counterer.
Your signet is not useless, Cuir reprimands the young man. Signets are based on what you need. They give you what you need. Therefore, it cannot be useless. Tell me, what have you wished for most in your life?
Peace…or maybe quiet, Bodhi admits after a few moments. And I guess this signet gives me that, to some degree. But it still feels useless. It won’t help in combat or anything important. Bodhi can almost feel Cuir’s pointed glare across their bond.
You and your health, both physical and mental, are the most important thing for you. At least, they should be. We’ve talked about this.
Bodhi chuckles wryly. Yeah, they have. Many times.
He realizes after a few moments that Garrick and Xaden have been sitting there, waiting for an explanation, this whole time Bodhi has been talking to Cuir in his head.
“Sorry, guys. Just manifested. I was figuring it out with Cuir.”
“Your signet?” Garrick asks, confused.
“Yeah. Signet Countering,” Bodhi offers, before swinging a leg over the bench. He’s not ready to talk about it yet—not when he’s still coming to terms with it. For now, he needs to go tell Professor Carr, and then he’s going to take a nice, long nighttime flight with Cuir. “I’m gonna go fly for a bit,” he informs his cousin and best friend. “See you tomorrow?”
They both wave with mixed expressions of interest and worry, but Bodhi just strides away, knowing that the sooner he gets to Cuir, the sooner he’ll start to truly feel okay with his new signet.