The fireworks exploded in the sky like blooming flowers of flame, painting the heavens with streaks of crimson, gold, and sapphire. Each burst lit up the academy grounds below, casting fleeting shadows and igniting anticipation in every watching eye.
A tense energy pulsed through the Roshar Dragonborn Riding Academy, mingling with the spring air thick with excitement and competition. It was the day of the April Dragon Riding Festival—an event so grand and storied that most simply called it "the Race."
It wasn't just a competition. It was tradition. A trial by fire. A rite of passage.
Zack strode across the training grounds, clad in a sleek, form-fitting Dragsuit that hugged his toned physique like a second skin. The suit shimmered subtly in the sunlight, emphasizing his athletic build and the confident way he carried himself. Every step he took drew a few glances—curious, admiring, or even envious.
The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. A day kissed by the gods themselves—ideal for a race.
Dozens of riders were already assembled on their dragons, forming a colorful and awe-inspiring spectacle across the field. The majestic beasts stirred restlessly beneath their riders, scales gleaming, wings twitching, tails thumping against the grass.
By Zack's estimation, at least fifty competitors had gathered.
He approached at a steady pace, mounted atop Liquid, the dragon he'd borrowed from his friend Rayleigh. With reins in hand, Zack guided the sleek creature through the throng toward the center of the field.
"You're in high spirits today, huh, Liquid?" he murmured with a smirk.
Liquid responded with a throaty rumble, nuzzling Zack's leg like an oversized, spoiled feline. The dragon had no wings, four muscular legs, and the lithe body of a scaled predator—more lizard than traditional dragon, yet no less imposing.
Cheers erupted suddenly across the field.
A spotlight hit the temporary stage, revealing the dazzling figure of the Student Council president.
She didn't need to shout. Her voice, smooth and confident, carried effortlessly through the murmuring crowd. Every syllable she spoke felt carved from stone—sharp, unshakable.
Flames of crimson cascaded down her back, her long red hair catching the breeze like a banner. Her eyes were sharp slits of burning amber, and her body... sculpted like a warrior goddess carved from marble—cold, beautiful, and lethal. Her presence silenced the crowd more effectively than any spell.
Roderika Randall. The Scarlet Empress.
The untouchable queen of Roshar Dragonborn Riding Academy. Fierce. Bold. Unbeaten. Even the combat instructors steered clear of her wrath and her dragon, the terrifying Vaestro Lainn.
She didn't need to prove herself. Everyone already knew—if there was a "strongest," it was her.
"The weather's perfect today—ah, but never mind that nonsense," she said, rolling her eyes playfully.
Laughter rippled across the field. It was well known that the principal always began his speeches with that exact line, but today's event was orchestrated entirely by the Student Council. There would be no dull formalities.
"Students of Roshar, the April Dragon Riding Festival isn't merely a sports event. It's an honored tradition. Your performance today will be recorded in the official academy records. So if you're here, race with the intent to win. However—"
Her lips curled into a sly smile. The air suddenly felt warmer.
"I understand that tradition and official records alone may not inspire greatness. So this year... I'm adding a little personal incentive."
She took a deep breath, her chest subtly rising beneath her tailored uniform, and then dropped the bomb.
"A full-day date ticket. With me. Roderika Randall. Awarded to the victor."
The crowd erupted like a second round of fireworks.
Boys shouted. Girls gasped. Even the dragons stirred in excitement.
"Silence!"
One word, thundered from her lips, and all fell still. Her commanding aura was absolute.
"And now, a speech from the participant representative. Advanced Course First-Year... Princess Silva Steinert."
All eyes turned as the spotlight shifted. A graceful figure stepped forward.
Zack clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes.
So she's the representative?
Silva Steinert, fourth princess of the Kingdom of Steinert, descended from her par—Vaestro Lancelot—with the poise of royalty. Her icy-blue Dragsuit hugged her figure like a glove, the royal coat of arms stitched proudly over her heart. Her long, golden hair was tied into a high braid that swayed behind her like a lioness's tail.
She moved with quiet, dangerous elegance—like a sword in a velvet sheath.
The Ice Blue Princess.
Daughter of the Paladin King himself, Silva was as beautiful as she was untouchable. Her pale skin shimmered under the sunlight, and her cold, calculating gaze could cut steel.
But to Zack, she was more than just a famous name.
She was the one who had humiliated him.
It had happened just days ago.
During a dragonback combat lesson, Zack had borrowed Liquid from Rayleigh and, as usual, performed brilliantly—defeating every opponent with practiced ease.
He had been so focused that he failed to notice Lancelot behind him.
Liquid's tail brushed lightly against Lancelot's leg—a minor contact, harmless even by academy standards.
But Silva's reaction had been explosive.
"What do you think this is? A game?"
Zack had dismounted and bowed, genuinely apologetic.
Normally, that would have been enough. The Steinert code demanded grace in the face of apology.
But not this time.
Her expression darkened as she walked up to him, her hips swaying beneath the curve of her Dragsuit. Her voice was sharp enough to slice through armor.
"You think this is all just for fun? Who do you think pays for your uniform, your meals, your training?"
He hesitated. "...The palace?"
"The palace, yes. But the money comes from the people. If you're just here to play games, then drop out. Spare them the waste."
Zack's pride burned. His chest tightened, his fists clenched.
"I already apologized! What more do you want?"
"Words don't fix incompetence. You still don't even have your own par, do you?"
He faltered. That wound was still fresh.
"Hmph. Maybe your par's already dead. Just like your chances of keeping up with the rest of us."
That did it.
His vision blurred red. Rage boiled in his blood.
"You take that back!"
Rayleigh placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, Zack. She's royalty. You can't win this."
But Zack wasn't listening.
It wasn't the first time he had been mocked. But insulting his par—that was crossing the line.
He'd rather fight the entire kingdom than let that slide.
And so, step by step, he closed the distance between them, his fury radiating off him in waves.
The lesson was interrupted. Everyone's attention was on Zack's confrontation with the princess.