Chapter 2 Oct 4, 2025 The wind hit harder the moment the skycraft pierced Caerborn's cloud line. Mira's stomach turned as mountains dropped away beneath them, replaced by jagged spires and storm-pulled skies. The fortress loomed ahead, carved into the edge of a cliff. She clutched the bench with both hands, biting back a smart remark. Jokes didn't land well when your life was being rewritten by force. There was no time to adjust. The moment the hatch opened, she was pushed forward-boots crunching on stone, coat too thin, hair whipping around her face. Borrowed clothes clung to curves she already hated showcasing, and now, under dozens of watching eyes, they clung louder. Cadets lined the balconies like vultures. Some leaned over the railings, pointing, laughing. "Did someone order seconds?" one of them called. "Or thirds?" Another barked, "She's gonna need a reinforced saddle!" "She'll crash before she ever flies!" A boy added, "Must've bonded with a kitchen drake!" The laughter that followed was sharp, echoing across the practice yard. Mira froze mid-step, heat rising up her neck, cheeks burning. She didn't flinch outwardly, but inside, something twisted. Her hand gripped the strap of her satchel tighter, nails digging into the worn leather. She knew her body didn't fit their mold-too soft, too wide, too visible-but hearing it spat out like a punchline still made her stomach churn. She turned her head slightly, not enough to show weakness, just enough to give them a look. Not angry. Worse. Indifferent. She barely noticed the blonde girl stepping into her path until it was too late. Tessan Vale moved like liquid mercury. Her platinum hair was pulled back in a perfect braid with a jade pin that probably cost more than Mira's entire wardrobe, not a single strand daring to escape. Everything about her screamed aristocratic perfection: the flawless posture, the pristine uniform that fit like it was tailored by angels, and those ice-blue eyes that seemed to catalog every flaw within a three-mile radius. She came from one of the oldest and wealthiest Highblood families in the Empire. Her education had been overseen by private tutors, her training tailored for leadership. Tessan was known for her sharp memory, strategic thinking, and a reputation for perfectionism that bordered on ruthless. Most students either admired her or avoided her. "They're letting livestock in now?" Tessan's voice rang through the courtyard, honey-laced with poison. "Or is this a supply delivery?" Snickers spread. Mira stood her ground. "Do you rehearse those insults?" Tessan's eyes narrowed like a cat sizing up prey. "Cute. Pity won't save you here." "I'm not looking for pity," Mira snapped. "I'm looking for whoever thought it was smart to let a viper wear boots." A low "oooh" rippled through the crowd. "She's marked," the guard beside Mira announced, cutting off the exchange. "That's all the permission she needs." "Oh, I'm sure she earned it," Tessan drawled, stepping aside with a bow that oozed mockery. "Maybe dragons are developing a taste for leftovers." Mira forced herself not to look rattled. Her fists ached from clenching. Her breath fogged in the cold air as the iron gates creaked wider. That's when she saw him. A boy stood on the upper steps beside the instructors like he owned the entire academy. Everything about him was sharp-from the severe cut of his jaw to the way his midnight-black hair was pulled back so tight it looked painful. His uniform was immaculate, every crease sharp enough to cut glass, every button polished to mirror perfection. But it was his eyes that made her stomach drop-storm-gray and absolutely ruthless. He looked like he'd been carved from winter itself, all cold beauty and zero mercy. The kind of guy who'd step over your corpse and complain about getting blood on his boots. He didn't smile as she passed. Just stood in the center of the gravel path, all storm-gray eyes and sharpened stillness. His gaze slid over her body-not like he was interested, but like he was calculating how much space she took up. Like she was noise. An inconvenience. Then, low and almost too soft to catch, he muttered, "Spare meat." Her boots crunched to a stop. Mira's breath caught-tight in her chest, hot at the edges. The courtyard noise around them dulled, like even the wind wanted to hear what she'd do. His expression didn't change, but his stillness sharpened. Most boys would've flushed, stumbled, offered some smug little grin or a second insult to finish the job. Bastian Roen did none of that. He just... stared. Like she was data. An error. Something to file away. Something that didn't belong. "You've got something to say?" Mira asked quietly, voice low but steady. He didn't answer. Just turned slightly, as if she hadn't spoken. As if she wasn't worth the breath. The dismissal landed harder than any insult. But Mira just smiled-cold, sweet-and said, "Didn't think so." The guard nudged her forward. "Keep moving." They brought her to the center of the stone courtyard. It was wide, cold, and echoing. Every cadet within view had come out to gawk at the new spectacle-the girl who didn't belong. Someone murmured, "She'll be dragon bait by week's end." "Look at her. Probably bribed a hatchling with snacks." "I give her a day. Two, if she hides in the stables." Mira heard every word. She locked her knees and lifted her chin higher, because if she cried now, they'd never let her forget it. The Headmaster stepped forward, robed and regal, flanked by banners of red and silver. His voice carried over the noise like thunder splitting sky. "By decree of bond flame and mark," he began, voice booming, "Mira Solvain is officially added to the Caerborn candidate roster." The courtyard exploded. "You can't be serious!" "This is a joke-" Tessan's voice cut through them all like a blade through silk. "She's not even trained!" Her perfect composure finally cracked, revealing something raw and vicious underneath. "She's not Skyborn. She's not even ground-worthy!" "You're just going to let anyone in now?" another shouted. "What's next, kitchen maids?" "She's going to get someone killed!" The noise swelled like a storm, bitter and rising. Mira didn't move. She stared straight ahead, fists clenched, breath shaking. Her heart roared louder than the crowd. And Bastian Roen said nothing.