The cadets who survived the Scarp should have been celebrating.
Instead, half of them looked like they’d been beaten within an inch of their lives.
Which, Kaveri supposed, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
“Move.”
Davan didn’t.
Kaveri kicked the heel of his boot.
He cracked one eye open from where he’d sprawled across the bench outside the cadet dormitory.
“I’m injured.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“I can be both.”
“You have a bruise.”
“It could be internal.”
Aldren looked up from wrapping his palm.
“That’s not how bruises work.”
“Thank you, Wynter. Your compassion means everything to me.”
Lisbet laughed quietly from where she sat on the stone floor with her back against the wall.
For once, nobody was rushing anywhere.
No formation.
No challenge.
No instructor screaming at them to move faster.
Just the strange, exhausted realization that they’d made it.
Tomorrow would bring something else.
It always did.
But tonight—
they’d survived the Scarp.
Bootsteps sounded at the end of the corridor.
Kaveri glanced up first.
You appeared around the corner.
Davan lifted his head.
“Well, look who survived.”
“Unfortunately for you,”
Aldren added.
Davan pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
Lisbet’s gaze moved over you automatically.
Everyone had seen your run.
There wasn’t much privacy on Scarp day. When someone’s grip slipped, everyone saw it. When someone froze, everyone knew. When someone did something spectacularly stupid and somehow survived—
everyone definitely knew.
And apparently whatever you’d done had given Davan material.
He sat upright.
“I have questions.”
“You always have questions,”
Kaveri said.
“No, these are important.”
His attention returned to you.
“What in Ossuar’s name possessed you to do that?”
Before you could answer, another voice came from behind you.
“I’d like to hear this too.”
The corridor changed.
Not dramatically.
Nobody jumped to attention.
But backs straightened.
Conversations quieted.
Arrick Rauth leaned against the stone archway behind you, arms folded across their chest.
And beside them stood Corvan, looking considerably more entertained by the situation.
Lisbet’s expression immediately became guarded.
Davan looked delighted.
Kaveri sighed.
“Don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not,”
Arrick said.
Corvan glanced at them.
“You followed them down here.”
“I was already coming this way.”
“Of course.”
Arrick ignored him.
Their eyes settled on you.
They’d watched your Scarp run too.
Apparently, they’d remembered it.
“You had three better options.”
There was no accusation in their voice.
That somehow made it more intimidating.
Arrick pushed away from the arch.
“One would’ve been faster. Two would’ve been safer.”
They stopped several feet away.
“So I’m curious.”
Their head tilted slightly.
“Why did you choose the fourth?”
The corridor went quiet.
Davan looked between you and Arrick like he’d just been handed free entertainment.
Lisbet was watching too.
So was Kaveri.
Aldren.
Corvan.
People who had spent weeks around you but perhaps hadn’t yet decided exactly who you were.
Outside, somewhere beyond the walls of Ashenhold, a dragon roared.
Another answered.
Tomorrow they would begin preparing for the Harrowing.
Soon after that would come the Winnowing.
Some of the people standing in this corridor wouldn’t be alive afterward.
None of you had dragons yet.
No sigils.
No guarantees.
Right now, you were simply another cadet who had crossed the Keelwalk and beaten the Scarp.
And apparently—
you’d finally done something interesting enough to make a Wing Leader come looking for an explanation.
Arrick waited.
“I’m waiting.”