06:00 – Ashglass Canyons, two days after Velira's funeral
The canyons were a graveyard of black glass and dragon bones. Wind screamed through the spires, carrying the scent of sulfur and old fire. The dawn was the color of dried blood.
Arya stood at the lip of the highest ridge, Level 173, Taker Uniform V11—a sleeveless coat of liquid obsidian over a cropped mercury bikini. The coat snapped behind her like a war banner. Velira's dagger rune glowed on her left palm: a scar of shadow and steel that pulsed whenever her heart beat too fast.
Below, seven dragons waited in formation—Ruby, Storm, Thunder, Specter, Echo, Void, Phantasm. Their wings cast moving eclipses across the canyon floor.
The cohort formed a silent half-moon at her back. No one had slept. Liora's eyes were red-rimmed; Cassia's flames burned low and blue; Sable's shadows clung to the ground like mourning veils. Even the twins stood apart, tails wrapped around each other.
Alexander stepped forward, coat unbuttoned, storm runes flickering across his bare chest. He didn't speak. He simply offered his hand.
Arya took it. The contact sent a ripple through the bond—Soul Link 2/3. Her brand flared white-hot. The canyon wind died, as if the world itself held its breath.
"Today," Arya said, voice raw, "we hunt for Velira."
06:30 – The Wyrmling Nest
They descended on dragonback. Ruby carried Arya and Alexander; Phantasm took the twins; the rest rode the others. The nest was a crater of scorched glass, ringed by molten rivers. Twenty Tier-3 Wyrmlings—serpentine dragons the size of city buses—coiled around a clutch of obsidian eggs. Their scales shimmered oil-slick; their eyes were pits of hunger.
The hunt began with a heartbeat.
Ruby dove first, fire breath carving a burning arc. The wyrmlings hissed, rearing. Storm followed, lightning forking into three separate bolts that struck three skulls at once. Thunder barrelled through the center like a battering ram, shattering ribs. Specter phased through the largest male, eating its shadow and leaving it blind. Void swallowed two whole, their screams echoing inside its belly. Echo screamed a nightmare wail that drove half the nest into paralyzed terror. Phantasm simply unmade the ground beneath four wyrmlings, dropping them into a chasm of their own making.
On the ground, the cohort moved like a single organism.
Liora flash-froze a river into a bridge of ice and skated across it, blades of frost sprouting from her heels. Cassia rode the bridge's crest on a wave of blue fire, whip cracking to sever tails. Sable's shadows rose as a tide, dragging wyrmlings under. Gilgamesh blurred between them, carving glowing runes that exploded seconds later. Milo and Lena hovered above, hands clasped—dual telekinesis lifting eggs high and then dropping them like meteors.
Arya fought in the center, Velira's ghost-blade alive in her grip. The dagger elongated into a shadow rapier, edges flickering with Velira's laughter. Every thrust left a wound that bled memories—Velira teaching her to pick a lock, Velira kissing her knuckles after the first duel, Velira whispering "You were never alone."
A wyrmling lunged. Arya met it mid-air, rapier sliding between scales and into its heart. The beast roared, thrashing. She twisted the blade, felt the ghost-blade drink. The wyrmling's dying breath became Velira's voice: "One more for me, Alpha."
07:15 – The Alpha Wyrmling
The nest's alpha rose from the crater's heart—Tier-3.9, obsidian scales veined with gold, wings of living flame. It locked eyes with Arya and spoke in Velira's stolen voice:
"You let me die."
The cohort froze.
Arya's brand burned. The ghost-blade trembled. For one heartbeat, doubt cracked her open.
Alexander landed beside her, hand on her nape. "That's not her. That's him."
Jonathan's psychic echo—planted inside the alpha's mind.
Arya's eyes hardened. She kissed Alexander—hard, desperate, public. Their first kiss since the funeral, lips crashing, tongues sliding, storm runes meeting obsidian fire. The bond flared white. The canyon shook.
The alpha lunged.
Arya met it blade-first. The ghost-rapier lengthened into a greatsword of shadow and memory. She carved a burning sigil in the air—Velira's lock-pick rune, enlarged to canyon size. The sigil slammed into the alpha, unlocking its stolen voice. Velira's real laugh echoed, free.
The alpha screamed, gold veins bursting. Arya drove the greatsword through its skull and out the other side. The beast collapsed, dissolving into black glass petals that drifted upward like dark snow.
07:40 – Campus Riot
Crystal orbs had followed them the entire hunt—live-streamed to every dorm, every tavern, every throne room in Elyssara. The kiss replayed on every screen: Arya and Alexander, blood-splattered, lips locked, the alpha wyrmling dying behind them.
Obsidian Wing erupted.
Students poured into the streets, chanting "ALPHA! STORM!"
Upperclassmen smashed windows in jealousy.
Freshmen painted the kiss on every wall.
The Headmistress's voice boomed from the spires: "Detention for public indecency—suspended. Carry on."
08:00 – Post-Hunt Make-Out Ridge
They landed on a lone spire overlooking the canyons. The cohort gave them space—ten meters, no more. The dragons formed a living curtain of wings.
Alexander backed Arya against warm obsidian, hands sliding under the mercury bikini. His mouth found the brand; teeth scraped the teeth. She moaned into his hair, fingers digging into storm runes that sparked against her palms. He tasted of lightning and grief; she tasted of dragon blood and vengeance.
They didn't have sex. Not yet.
They had time.
They had Velira's ghost-blade humming between them, promising that every future climax would carry her name.
When they finally pulled apart, lips swollen, foreheads pressed, the cohort was watching with soft smiles. Liora's ice had melted into tears of pride. Cassia's flames burned gold. Sable's shadows curled into a heart.
Gilgamesh whistled. "Campus riot, dead alpha, and the hottest make-out in history. Velira would've loved this."
Arya laughed—wet, broken, alive. She raised the ghost-blade to the dawn.
"For Velira."
Seven dragons roared. The canyon answered. The war had taken its first life, but it had also forged its first legend.