Chapter 3 Oct 8, 2025 Mira hadn't even made it past the main hall before the uniform decided to stage a full-scale rebellion against her body. The black fabric stretched across her chest like it was holding a personal grudge, the sleeves cut off circulation to her fingertips, and the pants felt like they were designed by someone who'd never actually seen human legs before. She yanked the tunic down for the fifth time, fabric protesting with every movement, and muttered under her breath, "Maybe I should've just stayed dragon bait." Day one started with what they generously called a "run." Not a gentle jog to ease new recruits into academy life, not even a civilized warm-up. No, this was a full-contact sprint across the cliff perimeter that seemed designed by sadists who'd flunked out of torture school. Uphill both ways, naturally, because the universe had a sick sense of humor. As the other cadets flowed past her in perfect rhythm-like they'd been born running on cliffs-Mira huffed behind them like a dying engine begging for mercy. "Keep up, farm girl!" one shouted over his shoulder, not even breathing hard. "Try using those thighs for something other than climbing the pantry shelves!" Mira gritted her teeth so hard she tasted copper. Every step sent shockwaves through her knees, every breath scraped down her throat like she was inhaling glass shards. She didn't stop. She wouldn't stop. But gods, she wanted to throw herself off the nearest cliff just to make it end. By the time combat drills rolled around, she was sweating through her too-tight shirt like she'd been dipped in a furnace, praying to whatever deities were listening that no one noticed how her borrowed boots were slowly murdering her feet. Everything here was borrowed-the clothes, the weapons, the space she occupied. Even her right to exist in this place felt like something she'd stolen. Tessan Vale, of course, noticed everything. "Oh no," Tessan said with the kind of sweetness that usually preceded homicide, stepping into the ring beside her like she was gracing peasants with her presence, "they're letting you hold weapons now?" Mira rolled her eyes hard enough to see her own brain. "Careful. If I swing wrong, I might chip your polish." Tessan tilted her head with predatory interest. "You think you're funny." "No. I think you're easy to knock over." Snickers rippled through the watching cadets like wildfire through dry grass. Their instructor barked, "Begin!" Mira barely had time to lift her blade before Tessan swept her leg with the casual efficiency of someone swatting a fly. She hit the ground hard, all the air whooshing from her lungs in one pathetic gasp. The laughter around the ring was immediate and vicious. Tessan leaned down, her perfect face a mask of fake concern. "Oops. Must've slipped on all that fat." Mira spat dust and shoved herself upright, her shoulder screaming in protest. Her pride hurt worse than any physical injury-a deep, throbbing ache that made her chest feel hollow. "Again," the instructor ordered, like he was calling for another round of entertainment. They circled each other like predators, except one was clearly the prey here. Mira braced for another blow, only to catch Tessan's foot again-this time right behind her knee, a perfectly executed strike that sent her crashing down like a felled tree. Someone whistled appreciatively. "And down goes the pantry!" Mira stood slower this time, her entire body feeling like it had been run over by a dragon. Her fingers clenched around the blade's hilt so tight her knuckles turned bone-white. The weapon trembled in her grip, but her gaze stayed steady-the one thing about her that refused to break. From the corner of the ring, Bastian Roen watched with the detached interest of someone observing insects under glass. His arms were crossed over his chest, his expression carved from marble and about as warm. The instructor glanced his way, clearly fishing for expert opinion. "Roen, you've trained with worse. What's your verdict?" Bastian didn't hesitate, didn't even blink. "Dragons don't bond to weaklings." The words hit harder than Tessan's perfectly executed kicks. Mira flinched before she could stop herself-not from physical pain this time, but from how casually he dismissed her existence like she was less than nothing. Like she didn't even deserve the energy it took to hate her properly. Mira didn't argue. Didn't spit back with some clever retort. She simply gathered what was left of her shredded dignity and walked away. *** That night, while the others ate warm meals or lounged in common rooms that actually had heating, Mira shoveled dragon shit. The stables reeked of smoke, sulfur, and things she didn't want to identify. She didn't complain-complaining was a luxury she couldn't afford. She scrubbed stalls until her arms burned like they were on fire, until her body forgot it was supposed to be tired, until her mind stopped its endless replay of every sneer, every bruise, every moment of public humiliation. Outside the wooden walls, voices carried on the night air like poison. "Did you see her face when Tessan flipped her?" "She's got no balance. Maybe they should just tie her to a dragon and hope physics works in her favor." "I still say she's here to make the real candidates look better by comparison." "Reinforced saddle, anyone?" Laughter followed like a pack of hyenas. Mira sank onto a bale of hay that smelled like disappointment and dragon piss. Her back ached, her hands were covered in blisters that had blisters, and her chest felt like someone had hollowed it out with a spoon. She'd never wanted to run from anything in her entire life. Not until now. Not until she realized that maybe, just maybe, she was exactly as pathetic as they all thought. She stayed until the moon rose high and silver, until the laughter died down and the academy settled into whatever passed for peace around here. The silence in the stables was better company than any of the golden children warming themselves by fires she'd never be invited to share. By the time she dragged herself back to her quarters, her feet were throbbing like they had their own heartbeat and her shirt clung to her skin like a second, unwanted skin. She stared at the stone ceiling, too tired to cry, too angry to sleep, too hollow to feel much of anything. The words echoed in the darkness above her: Dragons don't bond to weakness. That afternoon, as she tried to catch her breath after another miserable round of drills that had gone about as well as expected, someone called her name. A messenger cadet stood there holding a sealed scroll like it contained either her salvation or her execution order. "For you." Mira blinked, certain this was some kind of mistake. "Is this a joke?" He shook his head, expression serious. "No. You've been summoned." She stared at the sealed parchment in her hand. Her fingers, clammy against the wax, fumbled with the edges before she finally peeled it open. The crisp paper crackled as she unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the short lines once-twice. The words didn't change. She was to report to the Bonding Ceremony.