Page 79 of Tempest Blazing
Dante glided out as if he owned the air around him, every movement calculated and predatory. His obsidian eyes swept over us with the kind of assessment that made me feel like prey. "Time to earn your titles, children," he announced, his voice velvet sharpened by steel. The way he said 'children' made it clear exactly how little he thought of our chances.
Let him underestimate me. I'd claw my way to success if I had to.
Melaina followed, her feathers rustling with each step, creating a sound like whispered secrets. Her hawk-like gaze swept over us all, lingering on each face as if cataloging our weaknesses. When her eyes met mine, I felt the weight of centuries of supernatural history. I met her stare head-on, my jaw set. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.
"Enter," Dante commanded, stepping aside with a flourish that was somehow both elegant and mocking.
Inside, the lecture hall stretched wide and high, its enchanted ceiling swirling with clouds that moved in patterns too perfect to be natural. The air hummed with magic, making my skin prickle. Rows of desks spread out before us in perfect formation, each one equipped with a simple chair and writing surface.
I chose a seat near the middle—close enough to focus without feeling trapped in the front row, far enough back that I wouldn't be breathing down the instructors' necks. The chair was ice-cold beneath me, the temperature seeping through my clothes and anchoring me to the moment. My fingers trembled as I pulled out my pen, the familiar weight of it both comforting and nerve-wracking. But I gripped it tight, knuckles white. This pen was my weapon, and I was going to wield it like my life depended on it—because maybe it did.
Around me, whispered prayers mixed with muttered curses and the occasional spark of someone's magic going haywire.
"Silence," Dante's voice cut through the chatter. The room fell quiet so fast I could hear my own heartbeat. He began pacing at the front of the room, each step deliberate and measured. "No enchantments. No familiars. No cheating of any kind. You will rely solely on your own knowledge and judgment."
Melaina stepped forward, her voice carrying the weight of ancient authority. "This is not a test of memory—it is a test of discernment. Answer wisely, for your responses will determine not only your advancement but your worthiness to stand among the ranks of Dragon Riders."
Good. Let them test my worthiness. I'd prove it or die trying.
The scrolls appeared on each desk with a shimmer of magic, unfurling themselves with a soft whisper of parchment. The sight of questions waiting for me made my throat go dry. But underneath the terror, that desperate need hummed louder. This was it—my chance to prove I wasn't a fraud.
"Begin," Dante commanded.
I took a shaky breath and looked down at the first question:Outline the magical ramifications of entering bonded dragonpartnerships post-Unveiling, with particular attention to the societal and political implications for both human and supernatural communities.
Relief crashed through me. I knew this. I'd lived it. The bond with Thalon hummed in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of exactly how magical partnerships could change everything. My pen scratched across the parchment before doubt could take root, words flowing as I described the intricate dance of power, responsibility, and transformation that came with dragon bonding.
The next section dove into magical theory, and my thoughts scattered.Four elements... no, five with Spirit. Wait, what was the question again? Damn it, focus, Tess. Okay, societal implications... Unveiling destabilized... dragon bonds create new power structures...The questions blurred together, my mind wanting to jump from concept to concept instead of focusing on one answer at a time. I tapped my fingers against the desk, muttering under my breath to stay focused.
Come on, Tess. Kane's drills. Anya's late-night study sessions. Even Theron's brutal lectures.
All of it clicked together—fragments of knowledge weaving themselves into coherent answers. I wrote about the delicate balance between elemental magic and necromancy, the political tensions that had emerged since the Unveiling, the complex hierarchy of supernatural society that we were all trying to navigate. Each answer felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. I understand this world. I have to belong in it.
My hand cramped. My back ached. But my mind hummed with satisfaction, months of study and practice finally paying off. With every question I answered, that desperate determination burned hotter. I was fighting for my place here with every word.
"Time," Dante called, his voice sharp in the silence.
The scrolls rolled shut on their own, sealing our answers with a hiss of magic that made the air shimmer. I dropped my pen and exhaled—shaky but proud. My body felt wrung out, but my mind still hummed with the adrenaline of completion. More than that, it hummed with a fragile, desperate hope. I'd given everything I had. Please, let it be enough.
As we filed out into the hallway, Draven fell into step beside me, his presence warm and steady. "So," he said, his voice carrying that hint of smoky amusement that never failed to make my pulse quicken, "how badly did we crush it?"
I laughed, the sound coming out more breathless than I'd intended. "I think I just fought for my life in there," I replied, my voice shaky but fierce. "And maybe—maybe I won."
"That's everything," he replied.
"Tess!" Mason's voice cut through the hallway chatter as he appeared at my side. "You look like you just wrestled a dragon and lived to tell about it."
"Something like that," I managed, still catching my breath.
Anya materialized a moment later, though her usual easy smile seemed forced when her eyes met mine. The tension from our last conversation hung between us like a blade—sharp and impossible to ignore.
"Well," Anya announced, "I do believe I just gave them a dissertation on the sociopolitical ramifications of necromantic practices in post-Unveiling society. Complete with historical precedents dating back to the Third Age."
Draven chuckled, shaking his head. "Show off."
"Always," she replied without a hint of shame, though her gaze flicked to me briefly before looking away.
Mason's dark eyes found mine, and I felt the mate bond pulse between us—warm, reassuring, proud. "How'd it go?" he asked quietly, though I knew he could probably sense my emotions well enough to guess.
