Freija - The Living Storm
Chapter 2:
Wings of Discipline
Evolution of the Corps
Six years earlier, Commander Arvok had established the Elite Aerial Corps on the eastern continent of Skarae.
The Aerial Command Academy at Stormspire had long been regarded as the finest flight institution on Icelandia. Its graduates served throughout the kingdom as military officers, respected nobles, scouts, patrol leaders, and aerial defenders. Few questioned the quality of its training.
Arvok never questioned it either.
He simply believed Icelandian flight had not yet reached its limits.
The skies above the Ulcrest Plains in central Skarae provided the perfect proving ground for that belief.
Violent crosswinds collided between mountain passes. Unstable thermal currents shifted without warning above the canyon valleys below. Flyers who trained there could not rely solely on instinct or established doctrine.
They had to adapt.
The Elite Aerial Corps accepted only the best Academy graduates. Even among that already accomplished group, selection remained highly competitive. Candidates endured nine months of advanced instruction focused on precision maneuvering, extreme velocity control, endurance operations, and coordinated flight under conditions that pushed even experienced flyers to their limits.
Many never earned acceptances.
Those who were accepted many failed to complete the program.
That never concerned Arvok.
The Corps never existed to produce a large number of advanced flyers.
It existed to refine the very best Icelandia had to offer.
Six seasons later, the experiment had become one of the greatest successes in Icelandian aviation.
Graduates of the Elite Aerial Corps now served across all four continents. Their aerial abilities and combat skills were widely regarded among the finest on Icelandia.
The standards remained as demanding as ever.
If anything, they had become even higher.
And each spring, a new class arrived to discover whether they truly belonged among Icelandia’s most elite flyers.
Warm wind swept steadily across the stone platforms overlooking the proving grounds of Ulcrest.
High above the canyon valleys, several instructors stood along the upper observation terraces discussing the previous season’s results while preparations for the next training cycle continued below.
“Twenty-four this year,” one instructor remarked quietly.
“Out of forty-three,” another replied.
A third folded his arms. “Better than the previous season.”
“Barely.”
Commander Arvok remained near the edge of the terrace, calmly watching the training grounds.
“They adapted faster,” he said.
One instructor gave a faint nod. “Especially during the high-altitude descents.”
Another laughed softly. “That usually happens when Freija starts teaching velocity control.”
The sound of rushing air swept across the terrace.
Freija landed lightly behind them.
“You say that like it’s a problem,” she replied.
Several instructors smiled immediately.
One instructor glanced toward her. “Six reached controlled Mach One during descent runs.”
Freija tilted her head slightly. “Only six?”
A few of the instructors exchanged amused looks.
Another shook his head slowly. “Five years ago, nobody believed controlled supersonic flight was even possible.”
Freija leaned lightly against the stone railing. “That was before someone actually tried.”
A quiet round of laughter moved through the group.
Arvok finally looked toward her.
“The newer flyers are adapting to your methods faster than expected.”
Freija smiled faintly. “The sky changes when people stop seeing limitations.”
One instructor exhaled slowly. “Or when they stop listening to reason.”
“That too,” Freija admitted cheerfully.
More laughter followed this time.
The Next Season
Three days later, a transport arrived from Stormspire.
Freija stood along the upper observation terrace overlooking the eastern landing platform as the large carrier vessel descended slowly between the mountain ridges surrounding the Corps complex. Warm winds rolled across the cliffs while the transport’s stabilizers adjusted against the shifting Skarae air currents.
Behind her, several Corps instructors watched the approach with quiet interest.
“This group is smaller this season,” one instructor inquired.
“Thirty-eight,” another replied. “Halvrik recommended every one of them personally.”
A faint murmur passed through the instructors at that.
Commander Arvok remained near the front of the terrace with his arms folded behind his back, calmly studying the descending transport from the above terrace.
“That usually means they last longer,” one instructor said.
“Not always,” another answered.
The transport settled heavily onto the lower landing platform beneath a burst of displaced sand.
Its engines slowly powered down.
For a few moments, nothing happened.
Then the main loading ramp lowered.
Halvrik emerged first.
Even at a distance his posture remained unmistakable.
Straight-backed. Controlled. Unmoving against the mountain winds.
Several instructors exchanged faint smiles.
“One thing never changes,” an older instructor muttered quietly.
“He still walks like the Academy itself carved him from ice.”
Freija smiled slightly at that. Some things never change.
Behind Halvrik, the candidates finally began disembarking from the transport.
Thirty-eight Academy graduates stepped onto the stone platform beneath the towering cliffs of Ulcrest.
Some carried themselves with visible confidence.
Others tried very hard to appear calm.
A few immediately looked upward toward the surrounding mountain ridges and the distant aerial proving grounds carved into the valleys beyond the Corps complex.
Freija recognized the moment several of them understood where they were.
Ulcrest had a way of making even experienced flyers feel very small.
One of the instructors beside her folded his arms.
“Fresh fledglings.”
Another gave a low hum of agreement. “Some of them still think Stormspire was the hard part.”
Freija kept her eyes on the new arrivals below.
“We all graduated from the Academy once,” she said calmly.
The instructors glanced toward her.
One of them smiled faintly. “You say that like your Academy years were normal.”
Freija looked genuinely thoughtful for a moment. “They weren’t.”
A few quiet laughs moved through the group.
Below, Halvrik turned toward the candidates and said something sharp enough that several immediately straightened their posture.
Freija smiled slightly. “Still using fear as motivation.”
“It works,” Arvok replied.
Far beneath them, the candidates began forming into organized lines as transport crews unloaded supply cases onto the platform behind them.
The newest applicants had arrived.
Arvok descended from the observation terrace alone.
Halvrik stood waiting near the edge of the platform with his hands folded behind his back.
For a few moments neither man spoke.
They simply watched the graduates.
Some candidates stood rigidly still despite the pressure of the moment. Others quietly studied the surrounding terrain, their eyes drifting toward the distant aerial structures suspended between the cliffs beyond the main complex.
Arvok stopped beside the Academy commander.
“Thirty-eight,” he said.
Halvrik nodded once. “First-round recommendations.”
Arvok’s eyes remained on the formation below.
“You selected them personally.”
“I always do.”
That answer carried exactly the weight Arvok expected.
Stormspire’s recommendation lists were never assembled casually, especially not by Halvrik. Dozens graduated from the Academy across Icelandia each cycle, but very few ever reached Skarae through direct recommendation alone.
The Corps demanded a different kind of flyer. It required more than speed and more than talent. Candidates needed adaptability, control, and the ability to evolve after failure rather than break beneath it.
Arvok continued studying the line.
“Mostly fourth years?” he asked.
“Mostly.”
Arvok glanced toward him briefly.
Halvrik’s expression remained calm.
“Several fifth years,” he continued.
That immediately interested Arvok.
Fifth-year graduates often adapted exceptionally well within the Corps. An additional year at Stormspire usually meant more refinement in the skies, more corrections beneath experienced instructors, and more time learning how to recover from mistakes rather than simply avoid them.
Arvok gave a faint nod.
“The fifth years usually last longer.”
“Luck clears the Gauntlet once,” Halvrik replied evenly. “Refinement survives it repeatedly.”
A faint smile touched the corner of Arvok’s mouth.
That sounded exactly like Halvrik.
Then the Academy commander added one final detail. “There is also one sixth year.”
This time Arvok looked back toward the formation immediately.
“A sixth year?”
“Yes.”
The shifting air currents rolled quietly across the landing platform as Arvok studied the graduates more carefully.
Nothing immediately stood out, which itself was unusual. No flyer appeared to be trying too hard to project confidence. No one stood with exaggerated posture, and no obvious candidate seemed interested in impressing the Corps instructors observing from above.
That alone caught Arvok’s attention.
“You rarely recommend sixth years,” he said.
“I rarely need to.”
If Halvrik still believed that graduate belonged here after six years, there was a reason.
Arvok’s gaze moved slowly across the formation.
Beside him, Halvrik remained completely silent.
The old Academy commander appeared to be enjoying every moment of it.
The Mark
The mountain winds rolled steadily across the upper proving grounds of Ulcrest as the newest Corps applicants gathered along the outer flight terrace overlooking the canyon basin below.
Freija and the other instructors turned toward Arvok.
Unlike most of them, Freija looked entirely relaxed.
The basin stretched across a massive open section of the canyon system beneath the proving grounds. Suspended rings, elevated platforms, narrow cliff gaps, and shifting aerial markers floated throughout the open airspace below.
Nothing about it resembled traditional Stormspire drills.
Arvok gestured toward the basin below. “The exercise is called The Mark.”
“The Academy taught you how to fly,” he said evenly.
His voice carried clearly across the terrace despite the mountain winds.
“The Corps is interested in how you adapt.”
A faint shift of curiosity moved through the group.
He held up a simple training bracelet.
“You were all given a bracelet. All of them are dark. The exercise begins with five flyers entering into the basin. Your bracelet is activated when it turns blue. This means you are in the game.”
Several applicants glanced toward their bracelet.
“The flyer wearing the red bracelet becomes The Mark.”
Arvok lowered his hand.
“The remaining four flyers will attempt to take the mark through physical contact. If a blue flyer successfully tags the red flyer, the marked flyer’s bracelet immediately deactivates and that flyer is eliminated from the exercise.”
One of the fourth years frowned slightly.
“And the flyer who makes the tag?”
“Their bracelet becomes red.”
That immediately changed several expressions.
Arvok continued calmly.
“The mark remains active until transferred.”
Several of the applicants exchanged thoughtful looks.
Now they were paying attention.
“If you maintain possession of the mark for five consecutive minutes, you earn additional Corps privileges for the season.”
A low murmur moved through the formation.
Arvok waited.
“If you maintain possession for ten consecutive minutes, you earn private quarters for your entire stay.”
That received a far stronger reaction.
Even some of the fifth years looked interested now.
“Whenever a flyer is eliminated, one inactive bracelet will immediately activate. That candidate may then enter the basin.”
Arvok continued. “Candidates whose bracelets deactivate will move to the observation section and may not reenter the exercise.”
The applicants glanced toward the terrace area designated for eliminated participants.
The rules suddenly felt much more real.
“At thirty minutes, two Corps instructors will join the exercise.”
That drew a very different reaction from the group.
Several applicants immediately looked toward the instructors standing behind him.
None of them appeared concerned.
Arvok remained completely calm.
“If nobody survives ten minutes by the forty-minute mark,” he continued evenly, “Instructor Freija will join.”
This time the reaction spread through the entire formation.
A few graduates immediately looked toward Freija.
“Isn’t that Princess Freija?”
Fifteen years earlier, stories about the young royal who shattered a ceremonial banner during the Sky of Winter Festival had spread across Icelandia.
Others exchanged quiet looks.
One applicant near the rear muttered softly, “That hardly seems fair.”
Freija grinned. “It won’t be.”
A few instructors laughed quietly.
Arvok ignored the interruption completely.
“The Academy taught you how to pursue a target,” he said.
His eyes moved slowly across the gathered applicants.
“The Corps teaches you how to survive after becoming one.”
Silence settled across the terrace.
Far below, the winds continued weaving through the basin.
“Welcome to Ulcrest.”
Arvok finally looked toward the first group.
“Fourth Years Teren, Kaivor, Selvik, and Ryn. Fifth Year Malvek.”
The selected flyers stepped forward immediately. All of their bracelets turned blue.
And for the first time since arriving at Ulcrest, the newest applicants began to understand why the Elite Aerial Corps had earned its reputation.
Ryn’s bracelet turned red.
Arvok immediately shouted “Ryn five second head start.
The whistle echoed across the canyon basin.
Immediately, Ryn launched.
Unlike the cautious graduates before him, he drove straight upward with powerful wingbeats, climbing rapidly into the open skies above the proving grounds.
Below, the remaining four flyers crouched at the edge of the launch platform.
Arvok calmly watched the countdown timer beside the basin.
“Three.”
Ryn continued climbing.
“Two.”
The flyer glanced downward briefly, already trying to predict where the others would approach from.
“One.”
Arvok lowered his hand.
“Go get him.”
Four flyers exploded into the air at once.
The open basin immediately transformed into chaos.
Two cadets accelerated hard upward after Ryn while another curved wide along the outer canyon wall, attempting to cut off his escape path. The fifth stayed lower, conserving momentum while watching the movement unfold above him.
Halvrik’s eyes followed the pursuit carefully.
Ryn was fast.
Very fast.
But he flew exactly the way Stormspire trained its graduates to fly. Clean acceleration. Controlled vectors. Efficient pursuit geometry.
Linear.
Thirty seconds later Selvik closed the distance.
Ryn banked hard left.
Selvik mirrored the turn perfectly.
Ryn accelerated upward again.
Too predictably.
Selvik surged beneath him and extended a hand.
Tag.
The mark transferred instantly. Selvik’s bracelet turned red, Ryn’s went dark.
A buzzer sounded across the basin as Ryn veered toward the lower recovery platform below, breathing hard already.
Arvok pointed toward another cadet waiting along the terrace.
“You’re in. Move.”
The replacement launched immediately with his bracelet now activated blue.
Above the basin, the pace accelerated rapidly.
The marked flyer became the center of a constantly shifting aerial storm as pursuit lines formed and collapsed through the canyon airspace. Some cadets chased too aggressively and exhausted themselves within minutes. Others tried conserving energy only to get trapped when multiple flyers converged from different angles.
Several grounded applicants watched with growing disbelief.
“They’re moving too fast.”
“No,” another muttered quietly. “They’re thinking too slowly.”
Above them, one fourth year attempted to outrun pursuit through raw acceleration alone. Three others followed immediately.
Too committed.
The marked flyer banked sharply around one of the suspended rings near the western cliffs, but the movement remained predictable. A pursuing cadet anticipated the line perfectly and tagged him cleanly near the exit arc.
Another buzzer echoed.
The grounded cadets began paying closer attention now.
Noticing patterns.
Mistakes. Openings.
Arvok remained near the edge of the terrace, calmly observing the skies while the exercise unfolded beneath him.
“Still chasing directionally,” he said quietly.
One eliminated cadet looked toward him. “Sir?”
Arvok nodded toward the basin.
“They’re pursuing flyers instead of controlling space.”
Below them, another marked flyer attempted a hard descending spiral between two stone pillars jutting from the canyon walls.
One pursuer followed directly behind.
Another dropped lower.
The lower flyer intercepted the exit path perfectly.
Tag.
The grounded cadets groaned collectively.
Arvok remained expressionless.
“Banks and turns are still linear thought patterns,” he continued calmly. “You’re changing direction. Not changing the fight.”
Several cadets fell silent at that.
Below, the aerial movement began evolving.
Not dramatically. More subtly.
Flyers started delaying turns.
Breaking pursuit angles. Using cliff walls to force overshoots.
One marked cadet nearly survived four full minutes by repeatedly weaving through narrow aerial markers suspended between the canyon walls before finally getting cornered near a thermal rise above the lower basin.
Another nearly collided with a pursuing flyer after attempting an aggressive corkscrew descent through one of the vertical gaps.
The skies above Ulcrest grew louder with every passing minute.
More chaotic.
More alive.
At the twenty-minute mark, the sixth-year finally entered the basin.
Arvok noticed Halvrik watching carefully now.
Interesting.
Sten, the sixth-year launched without dramatic acceleration, climbing smoothly into the exercise while the others continued burning energy around him. His movements looked calmer than the others. More measured.
Less wasted motion.
Freija noticed immediately from the upper railing. “So that’s the sixth year,” she said softly.
Halvrik gave no response.
For nearly two minutes the marked flyer retained possession of the bracelet, longer than anyone before her.
Three pursuers continued pressing from behind.
Sten ignored them.
Instead, he watched the marked flyer’s choices.
The canyon wall.
The suspended ring ahead.
The narrowing corridor beyond it.
Every escape route reduced her options.
Sten dropped lower.
Much lower.
While the others pursued, he positioned himself.
Waiting.
The marked flyer banked around the ring exactly as she had several times before.
Her attention remained fixed on the three flyers behind her.
She never looked beneath her.
Sten rose through the thermal current.
Tag.
Several instructors exchanged impressed glances.
“That one adapts quickly,” one observed.
Sten’s bracelet turned red.
Unlike many of the previous marked flyers, he did not immediately accelerate away.
Instead, he climbed gradually toward the eastern cliffs while studying the movement unfolding around him.
Two pursuers committed themselves almost immediately.
A third remained higher.
The fourth attempted to intercept from the basin floor.
Sten watched all of them.
He slipped between two suspended aerial markers and forced the lower flyer to climb unexpectedly. The adjustment broke the interception line and created a brief opening.
Sten used it.
Not to gain distance.
To gain options.
Minutes passed.
The pursuit chains formed and collapsed repeatedly around him. Whenever one route narrowed, Sten shifted elsewhere. Whenever a flyer committed too heavily to a pursuit line, he redirected the chase through a different section of the basin.
The marked flyer was no longer reacting to the pursuit.
He was shaping it.
One pursuer nearly reached him near the western canyon wall.
Sten rolled beneath a suspended ring and allowed the other flyer to overshoot by several body lengths.
Another attempted to trap him against the cliffs.
Sten dropped sharply through a rising thermal and emerged behind the pursuit line entirely.
The basin grew louder.
The grounded applicants watched more carefully with every passing minute.
Then the five-minute horn sounded.
The deep note echoed across Ulcrest.
Several applicants looked toward one another in surprise.
Sten had done it.
Extra privileges were his.
Above the basin, the pursuit intensified immediately.
Three separate pursuit chains began collapsing toward the eastern cliffs.
Sten escaped the first.
Broke through the second.
The third left him with only a narrow corridor of open sky.
He banked sharply to avoid one flyer.
Another anticipated the turn.
Tag.
Sten’s bracelet went dark.
At the thirty-minute mark, Arvok finally raised the whistle again.
The sharp blast echoed across the proving grounds.
Two instructors launched immediately.
The entire basin changed.
The speed increased instantly.
Pursuit lines tightened.
Angles sharpened.
Near misses multiplied.
One instructor rolled sideways through a suspended marker ring barely wide enough for his wings before snapping into a downward dive that forced two cadets to break pursuit entirely.
Another used the canyon wall itself to redirect momentum, kicking off the stone face into a violent rotational climb that transferred the mark mid-turn.
The grounded cadets stared openly now.
“This is insane.”
“No,” another whispered while watching the skies. “This is the Corps.”
One instructor eventually took the mark and held it for over six minutes, weaving through the basin with frightening precision while cadets exhausted themselves trying to corner him.
Then one flyer finally stopped chasing the instructor and began anticipating him.
Tag.
The terrace erupted in cheers.
Arvok gave a small nod.
“You see?” he announced calmly toward the grounded applicants. “Even instructors can still be caught.”
By the forty-minute mark, twenty-nine cadets and one instructor had already tapped out.
The remaining flyers circled the basin heavily now, wings working harder as fatigue settled into every movement.
Arvok lifted the whistle once more.
“Go easy on them,” he said dryly while looking toward the upper terrace. “It’s only their first day.”
Freija smiled immediately. “Oh, I won’t show off too much.”
Then she launched.
And suddenly the entire basin changed.
Freija angled sharply through the upper basin currents as the marked flyer pushed himself harder trying to maintain separation.
Seven flyers filled the skies now.
Five cadets. One instructor. And Freija.
The marked student drove forward through the eastern canyon gap while three other cadets pursued from behind in staggered pursuit lines. Below them, the remaining instructor climbed upward through a wide arc, clearly attempting to cut off the entire formation before they could escape into the upper airspace.
Ahead of the chase, another cadet flew farther out toward the northern markers, trying to predict where the marked flyer would eventually break.
Everyone was still thinking directionally.
Freija smiled as she accelerated.
Unlike the others, she did not fly directly behind the marked cadet. She drifted wide through the upper current first, letting the air carry her across the canyon basin before cutting inward at an angle nobody else had considered.
Then suddenly she was there.
Just off his right side.
The cadet nearly jumped when he realized she was flying beside him.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
And somehow matching his speed effortlessly.
“Enjoying yourself?” Freija asked casually.
The cadet stared at her in disbelief for half a second before instinctively banking hard left.
Freija matched the turn immediately.
No hesitation.
No lost momentum.
The cadet pushed harder, angling downward between two suspended aerial markers while the three pursuing cadets behind them accelerated aggressively, convinced Freija had trapped herself in the same line.
They were wrong.
Freija remained calmly beside him the entire time.
The marked cadet finally looked toward her again just as she extended her wing slightly.
Tap.
Her wingtip touched his.
The mark transferred instantly.
Freija grinned.
“Tag. I’m it.”
Then she disappeared.
Not upward.
Not forward.
Down.
She folded her wings tightly against herself and curled into a tight rotational drop, twisting ninety degrees midair until her body faced straight toward the canyon floor below.
The three pursuing cadets overshot instantly.
Two nearly collided while trying to recover.
Freija reopened her wings at the last possible second and shot downward through the canyon basin like a falling spear of blue and white.
The instructor climbing upward from below adjusted immediately and surged toward her interception point.
Freija saw it coming.
Instead of continuing downward, she banked sharply around a narrow stone pillar, rolled completely upside down beneath one of the suspended aerial rings, then snapped sideways through a thermal current that hurled her across the basin faster than the instructor anticipated.
The interception angle collapsed immediately.
Above the basin, the remaining cadets scrambled to reposition.
“She’s not even flying a pattern!”
“No,” another cadet muttered from the terrace below while watching her streak through the canyon. “She’s breaking theirs.”
Freija shot upward along the canyon wall before suddenly flattening herself sideways against the airflow, almost appearing to stop midair as two cadets surged past trying to predict her climb angle.
The moment they overshot, she dropped behind them.
Both flyers twisted sharply trying to recover while Freija laughed openly and accelerated through the gap they had accidentally created for her.
Arvok watched calmly from the terrace.
“There,” he said quietly toward the grounded cadets. “Spatial control.”
Below them, Freija continued moving through the basin in ways the Academy graduates simply were not prepared for.
She used the canyon itself like part of her flight pattern.
Cliff walls.
Downdrafts.
Thermal lifts. Momentum reversals.
Nothing about her movement looked planned.
And yet every maneuver flowed perfectly into the next.
The remaining instructor attempted another interception, this time forcing Freija toward a narrowing section of the basin where two cadets already waited to collapse the pursuit from both sides.
For the first time since entering the exercise, Freija looked trapped.
One cadet closed from above.
Another accelerated from below.
The instructor surged directly toward her.
Three converging angles.
No escape line.
Then Freija smiled.
At the last possible second she tucked one wing, flipped completely backward through open air, rotated vertically between the upper and lower pursuit lines, and threaded herself through a gap barely wider than her shoulders.
All three pursuers missed.
One cadet clipped the instructor’s wing trying to recover and spun wildly away before stabilizing himself.
The terrace erupted in laughter and disbelief.
“How did she even SEE that opening?”
Halvrik remained completely silent.
But he had stopped blinking several maneuvers ago.
The five-minute buzzer finally echoed across the basin.
Three exhausted cadets immediately broke pursuit and descended heavily toward the lower recovery platforms below.
Three fresh flyers launched into the exercise moments later.
Freija never slowed down.
She streaked through the upper canyon currents before suddenly inverting herself completely upside down beneath a suspended ring, using the rotation itself to redirect momentum sideways into another impossible angle.
One of the new cadets tried chasing her directly.
Big mistake.
Freija intentionally let him close the distance.
Closer.
Then she abruptly stalled mid-turn and dropped vertically again.
The cadet shot past her so fast he nearly slammed into one of the aerial markers before barely recovering control.
Freija rolled smoothly behind him.
“Too linear,” she called playfully while accelerating away again.
Even the instructors on the terrace were laughing now.
Below them, the skies of Ulcrest no longer resembled an Academy exercise.
They looked alive.
The ten-minute buzzer finally echoed across the proving grounds.
The sound rolled through the canyon basin like a thunderclap.
Below the cliffs, several grounded cadets immediately broke into cheers while others simply stared upward in exhausted disbelief.
High above them, Freija banked hard around one final aerial marker before finally easing out of pursuit speed. The remaining flyers around her looked completely drained, their wings working heavily as they slowed across the open skies.
Freija, meanwhile, barely seemed tired.
The remaining instructor laughed openly while gliding beside her. “Show off.”
“You said go easy on them,” Freija replied innocently.
“That was not easy.”
Freija grinned.
One by one the flyers descended toward the lower platforms beneath the upper terraces. Boots touched stone while exhausted cadets folded trembling wings and struggled to catch their breath.
Several immediately collapsed onto the edge of the platform laughing.
One fourth year pointed upward toward the basin. “That maneuver where you just stopped…”
“I did not stop,” Freija corrected while landing lightly nearby. “I redirected momentum.”
“You fell out of the sky!”
“Temporarily.”
That only made the surrounding instructors laugh harder.
Nearby, one exhausted cadet shook his head while trying to steady his breathing. “Nobody flies like that.”
Freija folded her wings behind her. “Not yet.”
Arvok stepped forward calmly as the remaining flyers finished landing around the proving grounds.
The mountain winds rolled quietly across the terraces while the last traces of adrenaline slowly faded from the basin.
“You were all trained well at Stormspire,” Arvok said evenly.
The laughter gradually settled.
“But most of you still fly in lines.”
Several cadets looked back toward the skies above the canyon.
Arvok continued calmly.
“You accelerate.”
“You bank.”
“You pursue.”
“You evade.”
His eyes shifted briefly toward Freija.
“The Corps teaches you to think beyond direction.”
Freija leaned lightly against the railing beside him, still smiling from the exercise.
“The skies are not flat,” she added. “So, stop flying like they are.”
A few tired groans answered that immediately.
One cadet rubbed his shoulder. “That would have been useful an hour ago.”
Freija laughed. “You survived. That’s a good start.”
Arvok’s gaze shifted across the gathered applicants before settling briefly on Sten.
“Five minutes.”
Several cadets immediately looked toward the sixth-year.
Sten straightened slightly.
Arvok nodded once.
“Additional Corps privileges for the season.”
A faint murmur moved through the group.
Earning five minutes in The Mark clearly carried weight here.
“Congratulations.”
One of the fourth years immediately raised a hand.
“Has anyone ever survived ten minutes and earned the private quarters?”
Freija blinked.
“What private quarters?”
The cadets stared at her.
“There are no private quarters for students.”
Several confused looks immediately spread through the group.
“Then why is that the reward?”
Freija smiled faintly.
“Nobody has ever reached ten minutes on their first day.”
A few instructors laughed quietly.
Arvok folded his hands behind his back.
“The reward exists for a reason,” he said evenly. “The mark is not testing how fast you fly. It is testing how long you can adapt under pressure.”
His gaze moved across the gathered cadets.
“Over the next nine months, you will learn to fly differently.”
He glanced briefly toward the basin.
“Today was merely your introduction.”
Nearby, Halvrik remained quietly observant as the cadets continued recovering around the proving grounds.
His eyes drifted once more toward the canyon basin where Freija’s movements still seemed impossible to fully process.
Stormspire had taught discipline, control and precision.
But this…
This was something else entirely.
Not recklessness or chaos.
It was adaptation without hesitation.
Beside him, Arvok calmly folded his hands behind his back.
“What you teach at Stormspire creates exceptional flyers,” he said quietly.
Halvrik glanced toward him.
Arvok looked back toward the open skies above Ulcrest. “What she’s doing,” he continued calmly, “is something the Academy was never designed to teach.”
For once, Halvrik gave no immediate response.
He simply watched Freija standing among the exhausted cadets while the mountain winds moved softly through the proving grounds around her.
And slowly, almost reluctantly, the old Academy commander nodded once.
The Student Now Teacher
The afternoon winds moved steadily through the upper terraces of Ulcrest as exhausted cadets slowly dispersed from the proving grounds below.
Some still sat along the outer railings recovering from the Mark exercise while others replayed aerial maneuvers through animated conversations near the canyon platforms. Far beneath the cliffs, transport crews reset suspended markers damaged during the chaos of the last hour.
Halvrik stood beside Arvok near one of the upper observation walkways overlooking the lower training terraces.
Neither spoke for a while.
Below them, a small group of younger cadets gathered near one of the open instruction platforms built along the eastern cliffside.
Freija stood in the center of them.
Unlike the chaos from earlier, her wings were now fully extended and still.
“Relax your shoulders,” she instructed calmly while walking around one of the cadets. “You’re forcing the correction instead of letting the wing carry it.”
The cadet adjusted awkwardly.
Freija smiled slightly. “No, not like that.”
She stepped beside him and gently repositioned one wing with both hands, lifting the upper edge slightly while rotating his shoulder posture backward.
“There,” she said. “Feel the balance shift?”
The cadet blinked in surprise.
“…yeah.”
“Good. The air already wants to stabilize you. Stop fighting it.”
Nearby, two more cadets attempted to mirror the positioning with varying success.
One nearly lost balance entirely.
Freija laughed softly and caught the edge of his wing before he tipped sideways into another student.
“That would’ve looked very impressive in the air,” she said.
Several cadets laughed immediately.
Halvrik watched quietly from above.
The reckless energy he remembered from Stormspire still existed inside her. That much was obvious.
But now it carried control.
Purpose.
Below them, Freija moved toward another cadet struggling with wing alignment during a rotational descent stance.
“You’re collapsing the turn too early,” she explained while lightly adjusting the positioning of his folded wing joints. “The movement starts here first.”
She tapped lightly near the upper wing base.
“Not out at the feathers.”
The cadet slowly repeated the motion.
This time the rotation looked smoother.
Freija nodded immediately. “Better.”
Arvok folded his arms behind his back while watching the lesson below.
“They trust her,” he observed calmly.
Halvrik’s eyes remained on the platform.
The younger flyers listened to her differently than they listened to most instructors. Not because of rank. Not because of royal blood.
Because she understood the skies the way few flyers ever would.
And somehow, despite everything he remembered about her Academy years, she had learned how to teach that understanding to others.
Below them, one cadet attempted the rotational posture again before frowning in frustration.
“It still feels unstable.”
“That’s because you’re thinking about the movement one step at a time,” Freija replied.
She stepped backward and spread her wings again.
“Flying doesn’t happen in pieces,” she continued. “Everything connects.”
Then she tilted one wing slightly and shifted her weight.
The movement was subtle.
Effortless.
The cadets immediately copied her.
“Feel how the balance changes before the turn even starts?” she asked.
Several nodded slowly.
“There you go.”
The mountain winds rolled softly through the terraces around them.
For a long moment Halvrik said nothing.
Then finally, “She used to argue with every correction I gave her.”
Arvok’s expression barely shifted. “And now?”
Halvrik watched the scene quietly.
Below them, Freija adjusted another cadet’s wing posture before stepping back with an encouraging grin.
“Again,” she said.
The cadets immediately tried the maneuver once more.
For a long moment, Halvrik said nothing.
Then, almost reluctantly, the corner of his mouth moved faintly upward.
“Now…” he said softly.
His eyes remained on the platform below.
“Now she teaches them.”
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