The Institute’s female dormitory stood as a broad and generous building, wide of hall and lofty of roof. Many a sensible onlooker, hearing tell that the place was devoted chiefly to research, drill, and the stern shaping of minds and bodies, might reasonably suppose it to be plain to the point of bleakness.

  Such folk would’ve been grievously mistaken.

  "Haaah."

  Within an indoor gymnasium, Seralyth could be seen stretched upon a bench, her form darkened and shining with sweat, her breath rising and falling in uneven measure. Beside her, set carefully upon its rests, lay a barbell burdened with iron, four weights of 20 kilograms apiece and a fifth of 15, a load that would’ve daunted many. Yet despite this, there lingered upon the princess’s face a trace of dissatisfaction, faint but unmistakable. The taxation of her bond had begun, little by little, to press upon her bodily condition, and she felt it keenly.

  Even so, she wasn’t blind to her own limits. Drawing in a rough breath, she pushed herself upright and sat upon the bench. The gym lay largely empty, though this was less by design than by hour, for the morning was still young and most were still sleeping. Seralyth took no particular pleasure in rising at such a time, yet she’d found that there were few problems which couldn’t, with sufficient stubbornness, be overcome by seven alarms.

  "Next time, do offer to spot me."

  There was, in truth, one other soul present at this early hour. An escort, for want of a better word. Seralyth judged that the Institute was unwilling to appear incapable of supervising a single cadet, and so had appointed an observer to keep account of her movements. This precaution was, in her view, wholly unnecessary, for she harboured no desire to set fires nor to vanish into the world with Saeryn at her side.

  It was done merely for appearances.

  "Still nothing?" Seralyth said, giving a small shrug as she rose to her feet.

  She’d, on more than one occasion, attempted to draw the woman into conversation, to learn something of her thoughts or intentions. Each attempt had met the same end, a cold resistance, firm and unyielding as dressed stone. There was, plainly, a reason this particular escort had been chosen for the task. Seralyth couldn’t say it troubled her greatly. Rather, it was boredom that pricked at her patience.

  Several days had slipped by since the incident. From that time onward she’d been held in an odd state of suspension, described by her instructor as ‘pending procedural review’. Rynna, too, had been notably absent, and so Seralyth found herself with little to occupy her hours beyond the repetition of her daily routines.

  For the present, this was still acceptable to the princess. There was much she wished to think over regarding the mock battle. It wasn’t that she feared the Institute’s judgement or its eventual response, but that she sensed, dimly yet persistently, the outline of a path that might lie before her. The prevailing military doctrine didn’t suit her nature, though that didn’t mean it held nothing of value to be learned.

  All that, however, could wait. For the moment, she made her way briskly towards the gym’s showers, moved by a pressing desire to rid herself of the sharp odour of sweat. The escort didn’t follow, which was fortunate enough for its comfort and wellbeing.

  ???

  A change came upon the room, soft as a breath upon still water, and so slight that few could’ve named the moment when it began.

  At the very instant that Seralyth crossed the threshold of the canteen, the ordinary talk of the hall ebbed and fell, until voices that’d been bold a heartbeat before were lowered to murmurs. It wasn’t so much judgement, nor even deliberate censure, as it was an unthinking response, like folk straightening their backs when a siren rang. The cadets, whether they wished it or no, felt themselves compelled to mark the presence of the princess among them.

  "I thought she’d be gone by now."

  "Is that staff with her, or is she being watched?"

  "At least the gym’s free again. I’ve still got my leg routine to finish."

  "Stop clucking like old aunties. If you lot spent half that breath on your grades, you’d be better off."

  Seralyth, for her part, didn’t falter nor slow her stride as she made her way between the long tables crowded with cadets and their trays. Curiosity, enmity, goodwill, and plain indifference were all alike to her in that moment, and she passed through them as one walks through falling leaves, feeling them brush past but never pausing to count them. The princess had set her mind upon a matter far nearer and far more immediate, namely the fare laid out by the canteen.

  Her lack of visible reaction did its quiet work. The murmurs, having found no purchase, soon scattered and were lost, and the hall filled once more with the rough and cheerful noise of ordinary chatter. Thus pushed gently back into the background of notice, Seralyth found herself occupied with a decision that weighed upon her more than it rightly should’ve.

  Now, she wasn’t, by nature or habit, a picky eater. When need pressed, she’d eat without complaint the compressed loaves of grain and protein that were issued in austere times, washing them down with bitter tea and counting herself fortunate to have them. That she could do, and she’d done, when necessity demanded it.

  This morning, however, wasn’t such a case.

  And so there stirred in her a faint but persistent longing, touched with memory, for a little indulgence. Upon her plate she arranged soft pastries, layered and tender, each filled with a paste of spiced fruit whose scent rose warmly into the air. Beside them she placed a serving of thick, gently sweated cream, meant to be taken in generous measure, and for a drink she chose a glass of milk, chilled and sweetened, with a careful measure of wine mixed through.

  That, she decided, would suffice.

  Though the canteen was crowded to its corners, there yet remained a few empty tables tucked away at the far edges of the hall. Seralyth chose one of these and sat, setting her tray before her and readying herself to eat in what peace the morning might allow.

  "Hey. Mind if I sit? Or are you doing the mysterious lone princess thing?"

  If only. Lyessa appeared at her side almost at once, tray in hand, waiting upon an answer. Seralyth, feeling the small obligation that courtesy demanded, set aside the pastry she’d just begun to nibble.

  "Go ahead. Miss Striver."

  "Oho. So you can tease as well."

  Without reserve or ceremony, Lyessa took the seat beside her. Her tray was heaped high, almost precariously so, with chicken and boiled eggs, and little else besides.

  "Were you under the impression that I couldn’t?"

  "Oh no, I wouldn’t dare make assumptions about you." Lyessa waved one hand quickly, as if brushing the thought away. "Miss Striver. I rather like it."

  "I can’t say the same for mine," Seralyth replied, letting out a brief snicker.

  "Um, sorry?"

  "It’s fine. I don’t mind it, truly, but it’s rather generic."

  "Geh?" Lyessa snorted, then hastily checked herself. "That sounds mighty arrogant, coming from you."

  "No."

  "Then what do you call it?"

  "Confidence."

  For a moment Lyessa couldn’t find any words at all. She watched as the princess, with perfect composure, lifted a pastry upon her fork and began to eat, as though nothing unusual had been said. Was she always like this, Lyessa wondered? It didn’t quite match the calm and distant image Seralyth wore when speaking with instructors or other authorities.

  A short silence settled between them while both ate. If Seralyth were asked, she’d have said that she was pleasantly surprised by the skill of the Institute’s kitchen staff. The pastries, in particular, were made with care, and though they didn’t quite match the standards of the Imperial Palace, they came closer than she’d expected.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She took a sip of her iced drink, letting the cold clear her throat and savouring the sensation, before she turned her attention once more to her companion.

  "Lyessa. I’m afraid I’ll have to be blunt."

  The athletic woman tilted her head, brows knitting in confusion. "Eh? What is it?"

  "Is there a reason you keep seeking me out?"

  "Uhh... even if you ask me like that..." Lyessa scratched at her cheek, looking suddenly embarrassed. "It isn’t as if I came with a plan, or some grand intention. I just saw you sitting alone, got curious, and then, well, here I am, you know?"

  Seralyth frowned, though not from displeasure at the answer. Rather, she found that she couldn’t fully grasp it. Perhaps Lyessa was simply the sort of person to whom strangers weren’t strangers for long, or perhaps this was how her curiosity chose to show itself.

  "That's... not good?" Lyessa ventured, gesturing uncertainly when no reply came at once.

  "No. It’s perfectly acceptable," Seralyth said, and nodded calmly.

  "Uff. You scared me for a second there. Especially when you do that thing with your eyes."

  "Thing with my eyes?"

  "Mmm. You know, when you frown with them. If that makes sense. It feels like I’m being weighed and judged."

  "Is that so. I wasn’t aware of it."

  "Well, everyone has little habits like that. I snap my fingers when I get nervous."

  "You become nervous?"

  "Of course. I just hide it well, ehe."

  "I see. That’s useful to know."

  "Wait, why is that useful to know?"

  Seralyth hid a small smirk behind another pastry, taking a careful bite while she watched Lyessa protest and fuss beside her.

  Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn’t be so terrible after all to mingle more freely with her peers.

  The breakfast period, for reasons she couldn’t have neatly explained, seemed to pass more swiftly than usual.

  ???

  Onto the day, Seralyth found herself once more returned to the state of waiting that researchers at the Institute, with a dry sense of humour, called limbo. She’d no summons to attend the morning reports, nor was she inclined in the least to take her lunch with the cadets who gathered each dawn in the far outer compound, where voices echoed off cold stone and discipline was served as thickly as porridge.

  Yet Seralyth wasn’t one to let the hours drift away into nothingness, nor had she any wish to squander them wandering the winding paths of the intranet, which promised much and delivered little. Instead, she chose one of the few honest ways left to her by which she might keep her mind and hands occupied.

  She would broaden her knowing.

  For the Institute, after all, wasn’t merely a fortress of training, but a house of inquiry. Its demands for mastery were set high, and nowhere higher than in the study of dragons, which scholars there called dracology and treated with the proper gravity of an ancient craft. Seralyth wasn’t so foolish as to believe she might rival Rynna or the other senior researchers, who’d given long decades of their lives to such study, bending their thoughts year after year to the same vast subject. Yet learning more had never harmed anyone, and ignorance had felled many.

  And, in the end, it was she who bore the inverted bond. She alone carried that strange and uncommon linkage, and greater understanding might, in time, lead to some crack in the wall of what was thought impossible.

  Holding fast to that reasoning, she pressed the matter with a little more force than politeness allowed, until at last the researchers agreed to let her sit in on their observational studies. The irony wasn’t lost on Seralyth, now that she stood upon the far side of the wall that separated subject from examiner, gazing into the very chambers where scrutiny ruled.

  It was plain to her that her presence unsettled the staff. Their glances strayed, their words stumbled, and the air tightened whenever she passed, all of it owing largely to her unresolved condition, her status still marked as pending.

  "In that case, wouldn’t Saeryn be considered a ‘Drakewrought’?"

  The princess put the question forward with an uncharacteristic stubbornness, her tone firm and unyielding. The recipient of her challenge, a weary intern pressed into service as both guide and minder, let out a long sigh, which by its weight suggested it was far from the first of the day.

  "As I’ve already explained," he said, rubbing at his brow, "No. Even if your bonded dragon meets the Phase II guidelines, its biological structure remains that of a hatchling."

  "And how is that relevant?" Seralyth replied at once. "Why should a hatchling be barred from Phase II?"

  "Because," he answered again, patience thinning but intact, "Phase designation is a scale of growth. Until the dragon matures fully into adulthood, it’ll be classified as ‘Wyrmborn’."

  Seralyth snorted softly and allowed the argument to fall away. It wasn’t that she failed to grasp the futility of the exchange, for an intern held no power to alter institutional measures. Yet the absurdity of it all struck her as too great to swallow in silence.

  Biologically unstable. The bond functioning more as a bracer than a true synchronisation. Reduced output. Increased loss. Heightened recoil.

  Such were the phrases the Institute favoured, clipped and cold as chisel strikes.

  Seralyth breathed out through her nose, her gaze sliding briefly towards the observation screens, where Saeryn’s readings flowed in flawless alignment, numbers and symbols dancing together in quiet harmony. None of what she saw fit the claims. Not instability, nor inefficiency, nor the frailty they insisted belonged to a Phase I dragon.

  If doctrine named Saeryn incomplete, then doctrine itself was clinging to a notion of completion long past its time.

  'Hm? No, I am well.'

  She scarcely registered the moment their resonance drew into alignment, Saeryn’s presence blooming within her thoughts as vividly as a living thing. The overlap of senses was so smooth, so natural, that it caused her to pause, frowning inwardly. She didn’t feel as though she’d initiated it.

  Or perhaps she had, without knowing.

  However it began, the bond brought her only ease. She allowed Saeryn’s emotions to roll through her, like warm currents through still water, and within them she felt a strong, restless impatience.

  'You wish to fight again?'

  The answer came without words. The dragon delighted in the clash, the surge of battle, the shine of victory won. Seralyth herself was more measured, finding little value in besting another cadet for its own sake. Saeryn didn’t share that restraint.

  'In the end, you are still just a child.'

  The teasing thought met a sharp flicker of indignation. Saeryn was not a baby.

  'Yes, yes. Not merely a baby. My baby.'

  This time, the bond carried no answering warmth. Saeryn had turned away from her, withdrawing its presence in a deliberate snub. Seralyth laughed quietly within herself, finding the display strangely endearing.

  As their small, silent war played out through the bond, Seralyth turned her attention back to the room and its many screens. Upon them, dragons moved through drills, some honing their resonance, others repeating formations until the patterns were carved deep into muscle and memory alike.

  She still felt that such exercises weren’t meant for them. Yet watching now from the remove of an observer, she discerned lessons worth taking. Control, above all, and restraint.

  This didn’t mean she’d bend herself to doctrine, but her unconventional manner of combat demanded flexibility. There’d be times when unrestrained force and relentless assault weren’t enough. The more options she carried, the more paths lay open to her, and the better she could adapt and outpace those who stood against her.

  That thought lingered longer than the others.

  Enemies.

  Who, truly, were they?

  The question led her back to the Imperium’s measured, almost hesitant response to the First Bond warning issued weeks before. It unsettled her, that careful restraint in the face of something unprecedented.

  It stirred reflections she’d once set aside.

  A shadowed feeling settled in her chest.

  "Oh! You are here."

  A bright, lively voice broke through her brooding.

  "Professor Rynna."

  Seralyth inclined her head in greeting. The blonde researcher appeared brimming with energy, her attention already half elsewhere, pulled by the work pressing upon her mind. It drew a slight lift of Seralyth’s brow, for such urgency rarely arrived unconnected to herself or to Saeryn.

  "Sorry, no time!" Rynna said, words tumbling out as she turned to leave. "I must compile the exceptions in your bond parameters for review. Soon, very soon. Do look after Saeryn in the meantime. Let it consume as much biomass as it desires. All right? Good. Bye."

  And just as quickly as she’d appeared, she was gone. Seralyth closed her mouth with care, the questions she’d meant to ask left unspoken.

  'How many times have you eaten today...?'

  Dragons, of course, didn’t grow heavy as humans did, but for reasons she couldn’t quite name, the princess felt a small thread of concern tug at her.

  Quietly, she hoped that Saeryn would grow in every way that mattered, and not merely become broader of frame.

  ???

  It wasn’t until the lamps were being lit for evening that Seralyth at last made her way back to the dormitory, her steps unhurried as one who knows the day has spent its strength. With Saeryn already drifting back into its accustomed wandering through the nearer reaches of space, as it was wont to do when no summons bound it close, she set herself to reviewing the hours gone by, following the habit she’d long maintained.

  Productive, within constraints.

  She discovered, somewhat to her own quiet surprise, that she bore no resentment towards the delay imposed upon her, nor did it sit heavily on her thoughts. If anything, patience came to her with greater ease than it once had, as though time itself had softened its edge. Though she didn’t know the members of the committee board by name or face, she understood this kind of body well enough, if only from long acquaintance with the ways and tempers of the imperial court, whose likeness to such councils was plain to any careful observer.

  They were, beyond any doubt, deciding how she was to be managed, measured, and set within their designs. That much she accepted without protest, so long as their deliberations didn’t hinder her own growth or place needless bounds upon it. And if mere containment had truly been their chief concern, then Rynna would never have been granted the authority to stand over the research, nor entrusted with its course.

  '... that woman cared more about the results than the Institute safety, after all.'

  Seralyth laid her forearms upon the frame of the window and stood there, gazing out as distant starlight broke and bent itself against the great barrier of the facility, scattering into faint colours like light through old glass. Saeryn’s presence lingered at the far edge of her awareness, steady and untroubled even across the breadth between them, a quiet assurance rather than a pressing thought. Beneath all these things, the Institute itself murmured on, a low and ceaseless hum of ordered power and careful control, like a vast engine that never truly slept.

  As the minutes slipped by, she found herself wondering, without urgency but with honest curiosity, how long such a measure of calm might endure before it, too, was called into question.