Raya's Story - Chapter 2

In this chapter of the Third Wing Reyes Story fan fiction, Dana Liardel's audience at Kelliger City receives a final invitation. The protagonist, Raya, reunites with her best friend Samae and they express their love and concern for each other. They discuss their roles in the rebellion and the dangers they face. They are interrupted by Zayden, who overhears their conversation and confronts them. Raya is angry and confronts Zayden, despite knowing he is stronger than her. Hello and welcome to another chapter of Third Wing Reyes Story. It's an original fan fiction. I hope you've listened to the first one. Let's get into it. This is the third and final invitation for Dana Liardel's audience at Kelliger City. There will not be a fourth. If you care about the lives and futures of our children, you will not ignore this summon any longer. Private correspondence between Colonel Myrie and the Liardel family. We are separated from Criden when it is time for everyone to settle into their dorms. We are on the second floor dorms, although I couldn't say where Criden belongs since he has friends in every corner on every level. This works out well for me because there are five years Samae and I need to catch up on. Samae and I nab beds right next to each other and it reminds me of the room we shared growing up, but just as it was back then, it is not a safe place to exchange important information. While everyone is busy settling in and Criden is distracted in conversation with one of his dozens of friends, we sneak out to the grounds, our academic schedules in hand. He'll be expecting an explanation soon, but not today. Today is for my best friend. We find a tree to plot ourselves under, sitting on our knees and shins since the ground is wet and cold. Before we start, I just need to do this, I announce and hug her. I hug her as hard as I can and I can feel something release in her body. She eases into my embrace, a complete surrender to safety and unconditional love. I want to catch every part of her I missed. I want every part of her to forgive my absence just as much as I forgive her. I miss you so much, I muttered. I missed you too, more than you know, she replies. Her embrace almost too tight for me to breathe, but I know she needs it as much as I do. My eyes water. I wasn't sure if I would see Samae, not because I didn't think she would make it past the parapet, but because I couldn't find her anywhere once we were separated into our respective adoptive families. We maintained an underground covert communication system with the letters, but Samae was never in the loop. I couldn't reach her within the rebellion network. It didn't matter who I reached out to. I complained and complained to Zayden, but to no avail. Just another reason why I don't like him. Nobody could find her. I had no way of knowing she was even alive anymore. I'm so glad you're here with me now, I say. I came here first thing in the morning because I wanted to be the first person you saw as you stepped off the parapet, she admits and lets go. Our hands stay entwined, scared if we let go we might not see each other again for another five years. I chuckle at the irony. That's funny because I was last one, specifically because I knew to make sure Zayden received my supplies without anyone else seeing. I was not confident I could make it to the other side of the parapet to hand it over, I explained. Oh, I'm all up to speed, don't worry. There are many hours spent in that courtyard waiting for you and so many rebellion kids to catch up with. But it seems someone found you before me, hmm? She tilts her head to the side. Cryden, do we need to worry about him? She asks. Not at all, I assure, and it's just how I hold her hands to mean it. He doesn't suspect anything. It was his idea to leave the pouch. He was trying to help me. He wouldn't have known about the contents, I explain. I inform her about my close call with Leonard Wayside, much to her horror, but she doesn't doubt my capabilities, not in the same way I do. I wish I had the same faith in myself that she has in me. Do you have your runes, I ask her. She shakes her head regrettably. I used those long ago. What runes do you have, she inquires. Speed and strength, but I don't know if they're gonna do much. I'm not fit for this place, Samaya. I won't last long. I try to break it to her gently, but there's no gentle way in a place like this. I don't have the luxury of time. She needs to prepare herself for the inevitable. I don't want to break her heart, but she needs to know that this reunion could very well end soon. 67 deaths this year. That's what Patrick said, and I've only made it because Lady Luck graced me with her smile today. My good fortune won't last long. How many of those were rebellion kids? How many did I know a lifetime ago? Bullshit! I'll get you fit. We'll train together. We'll do everything together like we always have, if that's what it takes, she announces. Maybe that will work, but I'm not like you, Samaya. I'm not a fighter. I'm a healer. I like cooking and knitting. You know I wouldn't hurt a bug, let alone, I stopped for a second to consider Leonard. I killed him, but only because he was gonna kill me if I didn't. Surprisingly, there is no guilt, sympathy, or shame in my heart for him. He was a brute, and he deserved to die. The world is a better place without him in it. The coldness in my heart is unexpected. I would expect to feel something, but I don't. Perhaps I'm not as innocent as I think I am. You were a healer, she lowers her chin. You are going to be a healer, Raya, because your mother was a healer. But your father was a shrewd strategist, and you are just as much his daughter as you are your mother's. It's in your blood. You're a writer, and you're going to be a writer with me, whether you like it or not. You're not dying on me. I've had enough people let me down. I can't help but feel the same way. We've lost almost everything we've ever known to circumstances that are unjust, to say the least. I know, I'm sorry, I start. I'm not losing you. It's not an option. I won't allow it. She pulls me close, and we hug once again to remind ourselves that this is real. This is happening, and although it's in the most atrocious times and places, it's beautiful to find someone you love who you feared was lost forever. There's a warmth in my body, a sense of familiarity, like I'm a child who was lost in the markets, but now I'm found by my family. I'm relieved, and I never want to let it go. You will live. If not for yourself, then for me. You will live. I need you to live. Do you understand me? I have no one left I trust in this world. She shakes me by my shoulders like she means it. Maybe my life is no longer mine to forfeit. When you're orphaned and alone for so long, you think nobody cares about you anymore, that there's no one left to mourn for you, that the world would move on quickly if you left, that nobody would notice even if you were gone. But there is someone, there's Semea, and she is just alone in this world as I am. She has a younger sister, but nobody else decides that. She loves me just as much as I love her. Maybe that amounts to something in this hellhole. Maybe it will be enough. I will live. I agree. We will live. We will survive this place together. I promise with more conviction. She smiles and nods. I thought I had no one left, but that's not true anymore. I see Semea for who she is, the beautiful woman she's grown into. I look into those green eyes, the same jade eyes I saw every day for so many years, and all I see is my best friend. My best friend who never thought any of my ideas were dumb, who wanted to join me for every adventure. My best friend, so fast and so strong from such a young age, who would always wait for me to catch up if she ran too far or climbed too high without me. Gosh, look at you. You've grown so much. You must be breaking hearts left, right, and center, I say. And bones sometimes, she adds to the grid. I have no doubt. What happened to you, Semea? Where did you go? I couldn't find you. I looked everywhere. I asked everyone. I want to know. I want to know everything that's happened to my best friend all these years, but she just shakes her head. I don't want to talk about it, and it doesn't matter anyways. What matters is that we're here now, and there's a lot I need to relay to you in regards to the rebellion. Her answer takes me by surprise. Semea isn't the type of person to keep secrets from me, but then again, she has changed so much physically. Who knows how she's changed in other ways? But first, we need to make sure Croydon doesn't learn anything. Are you going to fake a relationship with him? Oh no, I don't think that's necessary. I don't think anyone will be following up on him. Besides, in an environment like this, people are fooling around left, right, and center. Or boning sometimes, she adds with her dashing smile. When I have a moment with him, I will simply explain that Zayden and I have a past relationship, and that we don't get along because... Oh please, do tell. A voice sneaks up behind, and we both jump up in fright. Semea whips out a dagger, and from the shadow of the tree unveils a figure all too familiar. A figure in the shape of disdain. Zayden, I spit. I knew he could control the shadows. I just didn't think he cared enough to spy on me from there. What a coward. All that power, and he still can't face me. I spit on the ashes of his father. Semea relaxes and cheats her dagger. Too slow, Semea. You'd be dead before you touched your dagger. You need to do better if you want to survive. How long have you been listening? Semea asks. Long enough to know you two are meeting too openly for such discussions. He has his no bullshit tone on. Lucky us. Oh, I'm sorry for reconnecting with my best friend. You see, since you couldn't find Semea for five whole years, we have a lot to catch up on. And maybe that means nothing to you, since you Ryacens just do whatever you want with little consultation or care for those around you? I grizzle. You're angry, he points out. Oh, you're damn right I'm angry. I step to meet him neck-to-neck. Well, more like neck-to-chest, since I'm not nearly as tall as he is. But I'm not intimidated by him. He happens to not be intimidated by me either, but I suppose that's the point. I'll fight him, despite knowing he can beat my ass just to prove how upset I am at him. He's still as fetching as I remember, if not more. But my childish attraction to my brother's friend is replaced by the perpetual grief and sting of their loss. I can't believe I once had a crush on this guy. I can't stand him now, and I would do just what I would do to just have a chance to choke him out. You want to get it out now before you get yourself killed, he suggests. You know what? I think I will. I step back and pull my fist. I tap into the power of my runes, my body electrifying with speed and strength. I want it to hurt. I want him to pay. I want him to feel what I feel for once. He parries me effortlessly, even though I'm tuning into the power of the runes, and within a second he has me splayed on my back, his forearm crushing mercilessly into my throat. Have you lost your mind? He yells into my face. To the untrained eye, one might think Satan was furious because I've challenged him. But because I grew up with Satan, I can pick up on the nuances in his expression. He is more scared and concerned than angry. I choke, my windpipe crushing to his weight. I slam into his ribs with my fist, kick my knee into him, trying to get him off but to no avail. Do not use your runes on me. Those runes are the only thing keeping you alive and they will not last long at this rate, or you with it. He lifts some weight from my throat and I wheeze in a sip of desperate precious air. Get it out in any way that you need, but do not kill yourself in the process. Your brothers would never forgive me. He presses his forearm again to assert his dominance. At the mere mention of my brothers, I thrash with all my might and I achieve nothing except perhaps hasten the rate in which I'm suffocating. How dare he speak about my brothers? How dare he? You want to be angry at me? I will accept your anger. Hit me as many times as you want, but not with the runes. I feel my eyes roll into the back of my head and funky shapes drape into my vision, but he's off me before I can pass out. Are you okay, Rhea? Samae is immediately by my side, pounding on my back while I cough my lungs out, I gasp for air, hold my neck for relief. How many more uses do you have with your runes? He stands, looking side to side, making sure no one is listening, waiting for me to recover. I don't know. I wheeze out, massaging my throat. As the power of the runes fade away, the pain in my throat increases. I test its function by swallowing. It feels like I'm swallowing sand. What do you mean you don't know? He snaps. Mother didn't have time to explain the specifics before she was burnt alive, or did you forget that part? I burn him with my eyes, with pure hatred. Then you're even more reckless than I first thought. Only use those runes if it's life or death. That is a direct order, he points to me. Samae helps me to my feet and I roll my shoulders for some more feeling and sensation. The pain isn't isolated to my neck. I can feel a bite between my neck and shoulder. How did he get so strong and fast? He was always good, but my brothers were better. What has happened in these years to have changed him so much? Does the power bestowed from dragons really change someone this much? Or is this murder house that did it? How do you even know I have my own runes? I ask my voice, horse. I swallow my grief and leave it there. It feels like I'm forcing myself to swallow nails. Your mother taught runes. Of course she would have given you a few. What others do you have? No others, just speed and strength, I confess. The rest I've given to you in the pouch. Sound, pain, light, warmth, cold, sleep. That's all I could take from my home before all our possessions were burnt. It's not much, but it's better than nothing and we are running out of supplies. The strength and speed runes stay with me though. Those were given specifically to me, not long after an argument between my parents. Samae was given similar ones. He's gonna get us killed. I told him he won't listen. We're not ready. I can hear my father's voice. Then let us leave. We can cross the border. We've done it before, my mother said. I didn't understand what they were arguing about at the time, but I remembered this particular argument because they rarely fought. My father, a boisterous man, rarely showed any signs of stress and I remember how worn he seemed. I can count on one hand the amount of times my parents raised their voices at each other. I cannot betray a friend, Dana, and he never did. He stood beside his friend, Sen, until the very end. I told him, did my father organize these runes for me because he knew we were in danger? I grew up with so many runes decorating our home, but I never had a reason to consider what they were. I thought they were common, but as I got older and after my family was thwarted, I was surprised to learn others didn't know what they were or what they did. Now they're a mystery, a lost secret. So strange to think all the funny geometric shapes surrounding me would eventually be regarded as an ancient art within only a few years. I guess that's what happens when you wipe out an entire generation and culture of people. Did your mother teach you how to make runes, he asks. To an extent. I don't know. I won't know until I have power to temper with, I admit. Why am I listening to him? Why am I answering to him? His father is the reason all our parents are dead. Even with all my venomous hate, there remains a compassionate part of me, deep down, a part that I've compartmentalized away. I understand Zayden lost his father and that he is not his father. That doesn't make it okay. I have tried to exercise compassion to confront my grief, but I just end up entangled into ugly knots of anger again. He gets to live while my brothers are dead and he doesn't seem grateful for it at all. Nothing I say, do, or think will ever make it okay. Then you need to survive threshing. You need to bond with a dragon. We need more runes. We need more knowledge. We need more power. Simea, you will help her, he orders. Of course, she does not hesitate to respond. Raya, look at me, he says, and I lift my eyes to face him. I understand you blame my father for what happened, he starts. That's not all, I remind him. Then let it out, he spreads his arms, offering his body as a canvas for me to paint my grief. Hit me. As hard as you can. As much as you want. Get it out. I will not fight back. But then, and only then, you will stay in line. You vow yourself to this cause and to survive this threshing. There is a war happening right now and you must be prepared to fight in it. And unless you want to lead, you do not undermine me anymore, especially around others. Do you understand? I nod. I don't want to, but I can't help but obey him. He's the closest thing to a father or brother I have left, even if I had to hate him for it. I said, do you understand me, cadet? He repeats once more with feeling. Yes, sir, I mutter. Raya, I need you. I know you have the kindness of your mother, the loyalty of your father, and the courage of your brothers. I know regardless of how much you hate me now, you will never go against what your family believed in. Do not get yourself killed being angry at me. I'm not worth it. Now go on. Let it out. Give me the best you got, he says and locks his hands behind his back. I can't think of anything better than hitting him. I fantasize about this moment, the ways in which I would punish Zayden Ryason for his father's failures. But now that I'm here and he's more than willing, I cannot bring myself to raise a hand. What are you waiting for? I can't. I'm a healer, not a writer. I shake my head profusely. From nowhere, and I was not expecting it at all, Samaya takes a swing for Zayden's face, bone meets where flesh shudders, and he steps back once, twice, backwards, shaking his head. That's for not finding me sooner, she sees. The bottom of his lip is split like a cut from a provocative dress, red swelling in the center. Oh, sorry, she grimaces with her shoulders pinched up. He blinks hard. Warranted. Your turn. He recovers in no time. I still cannot move. This was so much easier to imagine when he wasn't consenting to the punishment. Now that he wants to dish it, I can't serve it. He's right, Raya, you need to let it out. You can't carry this grief with you. It will kill you if you don't, if this place doesn't serve. Samaya urges. And it feels good, she adds. Fine, I inhale, curl my hand into a ball. I need to do this for my family, to honor their sacrifice, to honor our loss. I swing with all my might, land my fist in the center of his chest. He doesn't budge. Ow! I exercise my hand hissing. Again, harder, he commands. Is this man built of bricks? I'm not strong, but I'm not weak either. My punches should hurt somewhat. I try again, only to invoke an expression of annoyance. He regards me the same way one might an irritating fly. I growl and strike again and again at his torso, building momentum. I barely get a grunt from him and a slight shudder. This only infuriates me further, for I should be able to hurt him in some way. I couldn't be that weak. I hate you. I hit him faster and harder until a fury consumes me. I even go for a few kicks, but they only manage to knock him off balance at best. My blows weaken me, and it's not long until I'm only hitting him with feeble bangs on the sides of my fist. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, I say repetitively as exhaustion reaches my fingertips, and with it, tears to my eyes. I pant, rest my forehead on his chest, and rub my watering eyes. He offers me no further comfort, just his stupid strong chest and his arms tucked away out of reach, just like everyone else I've ever loved. Except Simea. I have Simea now, and I will never let her go again. Don't cry here. Cry in the shower where no one can hear you or see you, but never cry in front of people, he instructs. I push him, well, I push off him, more like, to face him. I'm not crying, I deny with a sniff. He sighs. Simea, you've got a good swing behind you. Raya, not so much. She's not confident in her body yet, but you will learn. You will teach her, or she will be killed, he says as if I'm not here. I understand, she answers. I've been training for five years, I exclaim. Exercise is not training. Your fathers and brothers never taught you hand-to-hand combat, did they? No, I admit. It wasn't expected of me, and I didn't show any interest, although Simea was different. She opted to play a fight with my brothers or practice with their pets instead of stitching or cooking with me and my mother, complaining it was too boring. That girl was born with the belly of a man and the heart of a lion, my mother would tsk after her. I can't, I can tell. A shame, they were fine fighters, he comments. That gets a rise out of me, and I hit him a few more times for good measure, because although, sorry, although I have not improved in skill or technique in the past three minutes, and so I do not impress anyone with any new results. Are you done, he asks with a bored expression. For now, I reply massaging my hands. Simea, you react without thinking. You speak what you feel, and you lose focus easily. That can get you killed. Training is not enough to survive. Raya, you will help Simea with her studies, he orders. Thank you for sharing the insights into the basics of friendship, I grumble, but then doesn't think I'm funny. He slams an open palm into my chest and sends me spiraling onto my ass. I choke on hostile air, unable to breathe, my diaphragm spasming. Simea is by my side in less than a second, rubbing my back once again. Get a handle on your attitude. Don't give anyone a reason to hurt you. We are already at a disadvantage. Mocking others will get you killed, and they will not show you mercy like I do, he commands. This is mercy? Winding your friends? This is considered mercy in this hellhole? What has this place done to this man? But I'm in denial. I should know better. I'm considered a traitor. I have a target on my back, courtesy of the mark on my hand. I need to prepare for such violence. This cried an aimer. What do you know of him, he asks, searching for something in the distance. Nothing, he's just kind, I reply, and find my feet with Simea's assistance. My whole backside is wet now because Zayden has thrown me twice with barely any FM. He listens to you. Why? Do you have a history with him? No, I don't. He's just nice, I suppose. Do people need a reason to be nice around here, I counter. It's because he didn't see your relic. He'll know by now, which changes things. He will ask you questions, and you must be prepared to evade all suspicion. He is not trustworthy. I will not have you jeopardize 107 lives for a boy you just met. Of all the things he's said so far, this is by far the most offensive. I am loyal. I would have died for my family if I was given the choice, and I would rather die than risk the lives of my friends and this generation. Unlike his father, I won't. I might not be a fighter, but I'm not stupid. I didn't create an underground communication system for years to throw our lives away for a boy, I retort. My greatest accomplishment to date is organizing the covert messaging system that enables secret communication between rebels within the borders. Communications between rebellion children is heavily monitored in the mailing system. Almost all letters from rebellion kids are compromised, for they are read before delivery. I found a workaround when I examined how the system worked. I figured if we could disseminate a cipher, then our mail could be coded and decipherable to the untrained eye. I was best placed to create the cipher and to spread it. My military adopter family worked for logistics, and they wrote the public communications to be sent out on behalf of the military to homes and to public notice boards in towns all over the kingdom. I was a helpful adoptive child. I helped in the kitchen, the household, the gardens, even with delivering letters and messages. Any official communications written by my family, that is, statements from the military that I carried to the printers, I altered. I added something that wasn't supposed to be there to test and see if anyone would notice. No one did. Turns out if you create art in the fashion of the military, not many people will question it. I designed an embellishment under titles in all the public notice communication sent from my adopter family on behalf of the military, and when nobody said anything after a few months, I knew I could hide a cipher in the artwork. To do this, I needed to be the most helpful adoptive child to make sure all communication from my family had some artistic scroll to avoid suspicion about why some notices had ornamental lines and others didn't. The printers assumed the designs were from my adopter family and approved by the military, and my adopter family thought the designs were from the printers and approved by the military. In reality, it was all just me, but no one suspected anything. The public notices by the military were updated almost monthly and displayed in common spaces, open to the naked eye, hiding in plain sight. I added new designs to these decorative lines, only the slightest variation, and waited for someone to notice, but nobody did. At first, I couldn't believe nobody raised an alarm. Everyone thought someone with more authority had designed these harmless pretty lines. Imagine my surprise when I found other notices not from my adopter family printed in official documentation with my embellishments. Someone in the chain of command assumed the embellishments were standard print and added them into their own communication, or perhaps other printers added them in thinking it was an updated design. I saw my designs on display in nearly every official public notice board, which meant every other rebellion kid could see it as well. That was when, after two months, I located Zayden and explained everything. He approved my plans immediately. My job was to come up with a new cipher every month alongside new, slightly altered embellishment designs. His job was to get the word out there. But how to send a cipher only the rebellion kids could recognize out of the dozens of designs they created? That's when culture comes into play, and the tyrish are rich in culture. To create the cipher and to distinguish it from the other differing line artworks I created previously, I drew a tiny Orishan symbol as a tail end. If someone looked carefully, they could see it, but within the art it was unassuming. If a rebellion kid wanted to send a secretly coded message to another, they could copy the artwork cipher, place it on top of every line of a sentence in a letter, and have the cipher point to the relevant words and read the secret message within a normal letter. The rest was up to Zayden. He just needed to inform those needing to send secret communication to keep an eye for the Orishan symbol and to use that month's cipher. In the end, I was rotating through nearly a hundred embellishments, including dozens of ciphers. Of course, there will be no more up-to-date secret communication anymore, since I'm in the writer's quadrant. They will need to rely on the last cipher and hope the military doesn't catch on. My last cipher was three months ago. I didn't want to make it obvious that I stopped right around the time I entered the writer's quadrant, just in case the military cottons on it could be someone of my year level. Since then, I can still find my designs in official notice boards reprinted by others, with nobody none the wiser. What? Smeya asks, clearly unaware of the secret mailing system I single-handedly created. Your friend, Liadel, lives up to her family name. We can communicate in secret, thanks to your contribution. I will give you that, he concedes, and I can tell he hides it well, but I can tell he's impressed. I didn't just enable secret communication. I changed the whole standard operation procedure for printing official documents in the military, and nobody figured it out. It was done by a fifteen-year-old girl. But to say that would be gloating, and I'm much more humble than that. I have proven myself more than capable of keeping a secret, or sharing a secret, depending on the way you think of ciphers. This place has a way of changing you. It tests you. It strips you of every piece of your humanity. You might find yourself reaching out for the comforts in the arms of a lover, and you might slip up. You might give yourself away. It's almost as if he knew exactly what I did with Cryden when I hugged him. Damn it, he knows me too well. How has he changed so much? But I'm still an open book to him. It's fine, Zayden. You don't need to concern yourself with Cryden. I'll just tell him the truth, that I hate you because my whole immediate and extended family was slaughtered due to your father's dismissal of my father's advice, his own very top advisor. And to make it believable, I'll add in that my brother, Zayden, was only two months older than you, and that he was not spared, even though he was ten times the man you'll ever be. I'll tell him that I wish it was you who burned instead. As soon as I start, I can't stop myself. The words gush out of me like vitriol toxic waste. I'm shaking. I'm tensing. I'm stomping the ground. The grief I swallowed down for so many years projectile out of me uncontrollably, and when I'm done, there's tears in my eyes. But I don't want him to see me cry, so I twirl, press my palm on my forehead, get a grip on myself. Simea, the gem that she is, is by my side again, but I can't depend on her forever. She can't always save me. Zayden wasn't the oldest child under the age of 20. Zayden was. Zayden might have been spared execution like Zayden if he wasn't exceptionally talented, just like my other brothers and father. He was gifted, and he was the youngest ranking officer. Young, but still an officer who played an active instrumental role in Fen Ryerson's uprising. Zayden's culpability was weighed against his age, and he was found just as guilty as the rest of my family. Even my other brother Edmund, who was 20 years and three months old, was not spared. No one in my family but me was spared. I always wondered if Zayden rose up the ranks so rapidly because Fen was happier to risk my brother's life in the name of protecting his own son. I guess I'll never find out since they're all dead. I exhale, determined to keep my eyes dry, spin to face him again, try to mask my pain. He has a mask on as well. I can give him, he can give the appearance that he's unbothered and undisturbed, but I know my words rang true and hit home. They hurt, they stung, because none of it is a lie. The only thing that gives him away is his tense jawline, the outline and shadow deepening, and only making him more attractive. To think I once adored the man. We can at least agree on that, he finally says. He breaks eye contact. Odd, that's unlike him. I've heard him. I got him. He can't stand to look at me because he's sorry. This is the first time I've seen him express any form of remorse to me personally. He usually strides himself in his ability to remain stoic, but I got to him. I'll wear this moment like a badge of honor, and surprisingly, it's not because I enjoy watching him suffer. It's because it's been impossible to humanize him when he doesn't show any emotions, and I can't tell if he even cares. But he does care. I know that now. I can't believe I actually got to him. I feel my expression less in intensity as a familiar compassion washes over me. He meets my gaze again. There will be weekly meetings in secret with the others for support. You both need to scrub up on your history. You mean the conspiracy they spread, Simea corrects. Yes. You must assimilate. Rehearse what they say or you will die. You need to learn about the nature of dragons or they will kill you. Find Quinn for the details and report to them. I can't hold your hands or coddle you through threshing. You two will need to prove yourself independently worthy to the dragons. We can handle ourselves, Simea turns deep and he nods in agreement. When I see you two again, I won't go easy on you. You need to be ready. You need to be vigilant. Any mistakes and you die. He uses his big speech voice and I want to roll my eyes at him. But then he does something unexpected, uncharacteristic of him. He reaches out and touches my arm. Raya, I am sorry for your family and the loss. I'm sorry that you were orphaned because of the actions of my father. But I am not my father and I cannot make up for his mistakes if you keep working against me. I need you, Raya. I need you on my side. I need your runes and I need you to survive. His eyes water the slightest. The golden emphasis is a little brighter. He means it. He's being vulnerable, tender, which is outside his comfort zone and he's doing this for me to give me the closure I need in the language I understand best. Thank you for saying that. I needed to hear it. I reply and lay my other hand on top of his, locking it down to savor this moment. He might hate being emotional. He might want to run away from this moment. But I'm making him stay. I need it and he knows it. When I show no signs of letting go, he wrangles his hand back anyway. If either of you ever say I was nice to you, I will kill you, he jokes in a serious tone that leaves me unsure as to whether that's a promise or sarcasm. Like anyone would believe us anyway, Sumeo flips her hand in a dismissive gesture. He looks between us as if deciding upon something. Finally he nods, satisfied he's made his point. Get back to your dorms. People will start asking questions if you've gone too long. And remember, he gives us an expectant look. We will live, Sumeo says. We will survive, I say at the same time. We both look at each other and crack up. That was so close, I exclaim. We nearly had it. We're just a bit rusty, she laughs. We'll work on it. The timing will come back to us, I agree. I look to see if Zayden's laughing with us, but he's not there anymore. I see how it is. Lecture us and leave us, but never laugh with us. That's fine. I don't want to see him anymore anyways. How is this one of the scariest days of my life since I lost my family? And yet my heart has never felt so full. So many enemies I have yet to meet. And all I care about are my friends, once lost but now found. I'm not mad. It must be the world that is. Thanks. I'll try to do the next chapter soon. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Have a good rest of your day.