Chapter 29 Aug 18, 2025 The wind smelled of stone and smoke. Mira stood still, spine straight, boots rooted to the center of the marble platform. Her leathers were scorched, hair tangled, arm wrapped in a rough bandage, but her chin was high. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. This was it. The Naming. A thousand eyes stared down from the marble tiers, curved like a theater built to witness either glory or humiliation. Mira's pulse thudded against her burned skin, loud and stubborn, reminding her she was still here. "Is that her?" someone whispered behind a jeweled fan. "That can't be a Skybrand. She looks like she barely survived." "She's common-born," came another voice, sharper. "She doesn't look like anything," a third muttered. Mira heard every word. Let them echo. She stood taller, locking her knees so she wouldn't wobble. Liorith was behind her, motionless but coiled, a monument of silver breath and ancient fire. The dragon didn't roar. Her stillness was louder than fury. Across from her, Bastian stood half-shadowed, blood streaked across one temple, his uniform torn at the sleeve. The wind tugged at his cloak. He hadn't spoken a word since they reached the Summit. But now he shifted. One step forward. Then another. He passed the instructors without looking at them. He passed nobles in gold-laced robes and armor-polished cadets with dried pride in their eyes. His boots clanged against the polished stone floor like judgment. He moved like someone who knew the moment was already his. "She doesn't look like a Skybrand," someone said again, louder this time. Bastian stopped. Mira didn't move. But something inside her held its breath. He turned, slowly, deliberately. And stared down the nobles. "Then change what that looks like." The tiers rustled with discomfort. A few gasped. One instructor coughed. Bastian ignored them all. He reached Mira and took her hand. The crowd held its breath. Whispers died. Even the dragons seemed to pause. "This," Bastian said, voice hoarse but clear, "is Mira Solvain. And she didn't just survive the Rise. She saved my life." Gasps fluttered across the stands. A noble dropped his goblet. A cadet looked away, ashamed. Another muttered something under their breath - then fell silent when Bastian's eyes cut in their direction. "She fought harder than anyone here," Bastian said, his voice rough but steady. "She flew cleaner. Smarter. And when I fell-she didn't hesitate. She caught me." Liorith lifted her head then, silver eyes gleaming like she understood every word. A pulse of light shimmered from her chest, quiet and powerful. It danced through the air, catching on the wind, bouncing off the banners above like the sky itself had taken her side. Vharok let out a deep, guttural bellow. His stormfire didn't clash with Liorith's glow-it wrapped around it, folding into her light. Fire and frost. Ice and thunder. Opposites that didn't cancel, but completed. One by one, people started rising to their feet. Bastian didn't let go of Mira's hand. He held it high like it meant something. And then Mira spoke. Her voice was low, steady. Real. "Yeah. I'm the underdog," she said. "I don't look like your legacy. I don't come from power. But I bled for this. I burned for it." She turned her head, slowly, eyes locking on the nobles in their perfect robes and polished scowls. "If that bothers you," she said, voice sharper now, "good." She didn't shout. Her words cut clean through the stone silence. "You all said I wasn't enough," Mira continued. "Too soft. Too big. Too different. But I flew through fire. I survived your maze. I carried someone who didn't think I could." Bastian's grip tightened around hers. He never looked away from her. "So here's the truth," she said, lifting her chin. "We're not just standing here because we passed your test. We're standing here because you can't ignore us anymore." She smiled then-not wide, not soft. Just sure. "Get used to it," she said. "We're not going anywhere." Somewhere in the tiers, someone began to clap. Then another. It wasn't a wave - not yet - but it built. Footsteps. Applause. Shock giving way to something slower and louder. The Academy Head stepped forward. She wore the ceremonial black of the final trial - a deep cloak trailing across the floor like shadow. Her hair was white as frost, pulled back in a braid that draped over one shoulder. Her face held no expression. Not praise. Not disdain. Only precision. She stopped two steps before them. Looked at Mira. Then Bastian. Then the dragons. Her eyes narrowed. The crowd fell into silence again. Even the wind stopped. And then - the Head of Caerborn Academy sank to one knee. And the rest of Caerborn followed.