NYRA'S POV
The first time my father broke my ribs, he called it training.
I was ten. Bleeding from the mouth. Gasping on the floor of the courtyard while the stars watched in silence. He didn't apologize. He handed me a blade and said, "Now get up. Real warriors don't die lying down."
That was the day I learned love can come wrapped in bruises and expectations.
Because I'm not just anyone.
I'm Nyra Ravya, daughter of General Commander Virendra Ravya, the King's Iron Wolf. The man who leads armies, bends steel, and believes daughters should be sharpened into weapons-not dressed in silk or sentiment. He's spent my entire life preparing me for the Combat Quadrant at Varkyn War Academy.
He wants me on the front lines. A general like him. A Ravya, reborn through battle.
My mother? She wants something quieter. More controlled. She's a Seeker-keeper of secrets, master of shadowed truth. She believes war is wasteful and books are eternal. If my father carves men into blades, my mother peels them open with words. Her dream is to see me cloaked in gray and ash, disappearing into the Seeker's Quadrant, gathering knowledge like blades under my tongue.
They both love me.
They both want to own me.
And my brothers? They're no better.
Swaraj, the firstborn, a Binder with hands steadier than his heart. He's kind, wise-and utterly convinced that I'd be wasted if I didn't learn to heal what's broken.
Veer, the middle child, a second-year Rider already bonded to an Ashveil Dragon with molten eyes and a wingspan that blocks out the sun. He never says it, but every time he sees me, I can feel the question pulsing in his blood:
> "Does she really belong to the Combat's quadrant ?"
Everyone has decided who I'm supposed to be.
A sword. A whisper. A healer. A legend.
Everyone except me.
Because none of them ever asked.
Not once.
But late at night-when the fortress sleeps and the fire dies to cinders-I ask myself. I close my eyes, press my fingers to the base of my throat where fear hums like a second heartbeat, and I ask:
> What do you want, Nyra?
And every time, the answer slips in like smoke, hot and sharp and hungry.
> A dragon.
Not a squad, not a book, not a battlefield. A dragon.
Something that chooses me-just me. Something that burns for me the way I've always burned for more.
I've never said it aloud.
Because saying it would make it real.
And if it's real... it can be taken from me.
Just like everything else.
Today was the day..
The Academy Entrance Trial.. also called as
"The Ascension of path"
Each Quadrant has its own Trial.. depending on which one you take
The packed satchel on my bed looked like it belonged to someone else.
Too perfectly folded. Too sharp. Too... final.
My fingers hovered over the combat leathers Father insisted I wear on arrival-black with crimson lining, the colors of the Combat Quadrant. I traced the silver crest stitched on the left chest: two blades crossed over a flame. His crest. His choice. Not mine.
> "That's the look of someone trying to disappear into the life they never wanted."
I didn't even have to turn. I recognized Swaraj's voice instantly-calm, light, but never careless.
He leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. He wasn't in uniform today, just soft gray robes and his signature violet sash looped loosely over one shoulder-Binder colors, but worn with a quiet defiance. Just like him.
> "How long were you standing there?" I asked, not really looking at him.
> "Long enough to know you're about to do something you'll regret."
I sighed and flopped onto the bed, folding my arms behind my head as if that could push the world away. "It's not like I have a choice."
> "Of course you do."
He said it so simply, so plainly, like choice was a thing people like us got to have.
> "You think Father's just going to clap when I tell him I want to ride dragons instead of swing his sword?"
> "No," he said, stepping into the room. "He'll probably break the table. Maybe disown you for a week. But has that ever stopped you?"
> "This is different."
He sat down beside me and didn't speak for a while. We just listened to the wind rattling the shutters. This place had never felt more like a cage.
> "Nyra," he said gently, "you've been chasing silence for weeks. I've watched you practice sword forms with dead eyes. I've seen the way your hands shake when you talk about the Combat gate. Whatever path you think they've carved for you-it doesn't fit. And you know it."
> "What if I'm wrong?" I said. My voice was a whisper now. "What if I go into that gate and I'm torn apart? What if the dragons hate me?"
He smiled. "Then you'll fight your way through like you always have."
I sat up slowly, meeting his eyes. "I want to go to the Rider's Quadrant."
> "I know."
> "Swaraj... will you help me?"
There was no hesitation. He stood up and nodded. "I'll get you in. But you need to be fast. Mother's expecting to walk you to the Combat gate in an hour."
---
That hour passed like a breath held too long.
My mother didn't say much on the way to Varkyn. She walked beside me in silence, her hand lightly resting on my back, guiding me like she always had-not cruelly, but deliberately. Always with quiet, careful direction.
> "Today is the start of something greater than you," she said at one point, without looking at me. "Don't stray. Not now."
I gave her a soft nod. It was easier than answering.
When the gates of Varkyn finally loomed into view-jagged, black iron climbing into the clouds-my breath caught. To the left: the crimson-and-gold banners of the Combat Quadrant, where warriors trained until they could no longer bleed. Straight ahead: the violet-shrouded Binder's gate, silent and still. And far to the right, cloaked in ash and shadow-
The Rider's Gate.
High walls. Dragon scorch marks across the black stone. A gate crowned with a dragon's skull, its empty sockets staring down like it could still see through your bones.
> "This is your path," Mother whispered beside me, hand firm on my arm. "Don't forget what you carry."
But my feet were already moving.
Not toward the Combat Quadrant.
Toward the trees.
> "Nyra?" Her voice sharpened behind me. "Where are you going?"
I didn't answer.
Because I saw him-Swaraj-waiting by the edge of the eastern ridge.
He tossed me a cloak as I ran toward him, and I threw it over my shoulders in one motion. He didn't speak, just turned and started walking fast, leading me down a side path that curved behind the main campus. Overgrown, thorned, almost forgotten.
> "You've got five minutes before the bell rings," he said. "Once it does, they'll seal the Quadrant gates. If you're not inside by then..."
> "I know."
We ran. Our boots kicking up dust. The cloak whipped at my ankles. My satchel slammed against my back with every stride.
When we reached the wall separating the Rider's territory from the rest of Varkyn, Swaraj knelt and lifted a loose grate hidden beneath a tangle of vines. A tunnel. Just wide enough to crawl through.
> "Where does this go?" I asked, ducking inside.
> "To your beginning," he said with a crooked smile.
---
We emerged behind the old sparring field, where dragon talon marks still scarred the stone.
Smoke coiled in the air. The earth smelled like ash and wild magic. Somewhere above, a roar split the sky.
My blood turned to fire.
I turned to him-my brother, my last real tether.
> "Thank you."
> "Don't thank me yet," he said. "Just promise me one thing."
> "What?"
> "Always listen to your heart. And make damn sure you don't spend the rest of your life regretting the moment you finally followed it."
I smiled for the first time that day.
> "I won't."
Then the horns sounded. The gates to the Rider's Quadrant groaned open.
And I ran toward them-alone, terrified, and entirely, finally myself..