Chapter 8: _ Losing My Mind

The Last Bastion Academy for Elite Dragons did not believe in subtlety.

It was a metropolis of white marble, black granite, and soaring gold-tipped spires that pierced the clouds. Huge statues of ancient dragons lined the wide walkways. Banners of silver and gold hung from soaring archways.

It was built to remind every single person who walked through its gates of one absolute truth: Dragons rule the world, and you are small.

"Common-born and lower-tier initiates to the West Annex!" a House Master barked, his voice amplified by magic. He gestured casually toward a grand tower made of polished white stone. "High-blood heirs, report to the High Spire for private suite assignments!"

I watched as the wealthy noble initiates accompanied by servants carrying heavy iron trunks swept past us without a second glance, heading straight for the luxury towers.

Meanwhile, a second, far less enthusiastic House Master pointed a lazy finger toward a crumbling, shadows-draped stone building sitting near the edge of the courtyard.

"West Annex, Dormitory Four," the House Master droned. "Third floor. Find your names on the doors. Do not break the furniture; you will not get replacements."

I stared at the building. The stone was dark and weathered, choked with prickly ivy. The narrow glass windows were coated in a fine layer of grime, and the wooden steps looked like they had been gnawed on by a bored gargoyle.

I rubbed my temples. Ah. The Academy’s revolutionary new system of social equality. Give the rich marble; give the unwanted mold.

I dragged my small canvas sack up the creaking wooden stairs to the third floor and pushed open the heavy oak door marked ROOM 3B.

The room was tiny. Three narrow iron cot-beds were crammed against the stone walls, separated by a pair of rickety wooden wardrobes and a single, stained desk.

Two girls were already inside.

The first girl was sitting on the left cot, unlacing a pair of leather combat boots. She had broad shoulders, tanned skin covered in faint training scars, and dark eyes.

The second girl was pacing the floor like a caged beast, her emerald cloak sweeping behind her as she gestured wildly at the ceiling. She was striking. She had high cheekbones, pale skin, and fiery amber eyes, but her face was red with anger.

"This is an insult!" she snarled, throwing her hands in the air. "A direct, intentional insult! My father’s dogs had larger accommodations than this windowless stone closet!"

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. "Then at least you already know where the rats live."

The pacing girl whipped around. "What did you say to me, commoner?"

"I said hello," I replied flatly, tossing my canvas bag onto the only unclaimed cot in the middle. "I’m Elira."

"She doesn’t care who you are," the girl on the left cot said, not looking up as she pulled off her left boot. "That’s Lady Miriel Tudor. Her father was Lord Tudor of the Southern Dragon Territories."

Miriel’s head snapped toward her. "Was?"

"Was," Bren repeated calmly. "Before the High Council executed him for treason."

Miriel’s face went deadly pale. "He was framed by the Dragon Lords! And my bloodline is still purer than a thousand common trash like you, Bren!"

Bren finally looked up. She glanced at Miriel with indifference, then turned her gaze toward me. Her eyes dropped immediately to my exposed right shoulder.

"You’re really dragonless," Bren noted plainly.

"Completely. No mark, no beast, no dragon." I beamed.

"Fascinating," Bren muttered. "I’m Bren. My beast awakened when I was fourteen, but my family digs up coal in the lower districts. The Academy only let me in because my flame output was high enough to light their forge towers." She offered a dry smirk. "First time I’ve met someone here who didn’t use ’dragonless’ as a slur."

"Give it time," Miriel spat, stalking over to her wardrobe and yanking the door open so hard the hinges groaned. "The entire Academy is already talking about her anyway."

My hand froze over my canvas bag. "What?"

Miriel turned, leaning against the wardrobe with a mocking grin. "Oh, don’t play stupid. Word travels fast in the corridors. You’re the gutter-rat who stood beside Raice Ignis-Dominus on the Concourse. The one who sassed the High Rector and had the Fae prince laughing in public."

"He wasn’t laughing," I grumbled, sinking onto my narrow cot. "He was tormenting me."

"Doesn’t matter. You made a scene. Which means the noble houses know your face. And in this place, being noticed by the top means you get crushed by everyone trying to climb over you."

"Good thing I brought sturdy boots," I muttered, lying back on the lumpy mattress and staring up at the cracked stone ceiling.

Bren went back to unpacking her gear in silence. Miriel continued to violently organize her silk gowns into the wardrobe.

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon. Outside our narrow window, the Dragon Academy didn’t sleep. Iron bells chimed in distant towers. The roars of adult dragons echoed across the training grounds. Down in the courtyards, the clashing of steel weapons and the sound of laughing, arrogant nobles traveled through the night air.

The world was moving on, completely unbothered by the fact that I was drowning.

I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day drag me down into the dark. My mind replayed everything in a dizzying loop: my mother’s cold hands pushing me into the night eight years ago... the suffocating carriage ride... the High Rector’s terrifying voice... Tobin’s strange, terrifying grip...

And Raice.

"That’s a shame. I was really enjoying your opinion."

I gritted my teeth, rolling onto my side. I hated that his smug, gorgeous face kept flashing behind my eyelids. I hated that I had somehow managed to land myself in a trap before classes had even begun.

Then, another memory surfaced: silver eyes. Red, vertical slits.

The eyes I had seen watching me from the crowd earlier today. The eyes that had dragged up a long-buried ghost from my childhood. The boy from eight years ago, making a promise he had no right to keep: I’ll find you and I’ll marry you.

My eyes flew open.

Stop it.

You’re exhausted. You’re losing your mind. You’ve been dragged across realms into a castle full of terrifying predators, and your brain is playing tricks on you.

Those eyes meant nothing.

That memory meant nothing.

He meant nothing.

...Right?