The dream faded, slipping away like mist at dawn.
Inside Persephone House, the prestigious girls' dormitory reserved for the elite students of the Academy, soft morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains. On the topmost floor, in a private suite designed exclusively for royalty, Silva Steinert stirred beneath her satin sheets.
The golden warmth of sunrise kissed her skin as her long silver hair spilled over the pillow. With a quiet yawn, Silva sat up and rubbed her sleepy eyes, her breaths still shallow with the lingering haze of the dream.
"Stop, Princess Silva… That's not allowed…" From the adjacent bed, Shanon was mumbling in her sleep, flushed and tangled in her sheets, clearly lost in a particularly vivid dream.
Silva sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple. What kind of dream is she even having...?
"…A dream…" Her voice was soft, as if saying it aloud might somehow keep the memory from fading.
She could still see the forest—the deep green of Ald, the sacred land where the Mother Dragon dwelled. She had gone there after her seventh birthday, full of pride and nerves, determined to receive her Fang Mark and prove herself worthy of a dragon.
But what lingered wasn't just the trees or the ceremony. It was him.
The boy she met.
That strange, kind boy who had carried her on his back when she was injured. Who'd made her heart flutter in ways she didn't yet understand.
Silva's fingers moved slowly, almost without thought, as she began unbuttoning the top of her silk pajamas. With a gentle slide of fabric, she exposed the smooth skin of her chest, her fingers brushing against the center—right where her mark was.
The mark was delicate yet striking, etched like ancient runes over the skin above her heart. About the size of her palm, it glowed faintly in the morning light, a living reminder of her bond with her dragon.
She traced it lightly, a shiver rippling down her spine.
"...I wonder where he is now?" Her voice was barely a whisper, breathy and distant.
The thought of him still stirred something deep inside her—something warmer than simple nostalgia. She could still remember the way his back had felt under her hands, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes softened when he smiled.
"That being said..." A faint blush colored her cheeks as she remembered what she had done back then.
Before they parted, she had handed him Lancelot, the plush dragon doll she had always cherished. A gift of thanks... and perhaps a wish for something more.
A small smile played on her lips.
.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.༄
It had been three days since the harrowing attack on Roshar.
According to Zack and Ico, the monstrous dragon responsible for the chaos had been a Necromancia—a reanimated dragon corpse twisted by forbidden human technology. A being that defied the laws of nature itself.
Though the damage had been considerable, by some miracle, there had been no fatalities. Around thirty people had suffered injuries—cuts, burns, and fractured bones—but all were recovering under medical care.
The destruction to the city's infrastructure had been more tangible. Four buildings lay in utter ruin, reduced to splintered wood and charred stone. A fifth stood on unstable foundations, partially collapsed and barely clinging to what remained of its structure.
St. Durkheir Square, once a bustling centerpiece of commerce and culture, had been closed off to the public. Restoration crews worked day and night, weaving spells, erecting scaffolding, and channeling mana into reconstruction wards.
And yet… considering the sheer destructive power the Necromancia had unleashed—its torrents of dark magic and crushing force—the fact that Roshar still stood at all was nothing short of a miracle.
That miracle had a name.
Zack.
Or perhaps, not just him. The victory had only been possible because of everyone who had fought—Silva, Lancelot, and the mysterious surge of power that had come from Ico, the dragon girl who had entrusted her very essence to protect him.
Rumors spread quickly. Whispers of a silver-haired princess and a crimson-eyed girl with horns were already circulating through the Academy like wildfire. The story of how Zack had mounted the rampaging beast and brought it down in a cascade of blinding light was being retold with ever more colorful exaggerations.
But behind the legend, there was truth.
Zack had done the impossible—again. And now, in the aftermath, while the city began to breathe again, the investigation into the Necromancia had only just begun.
.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.༄
In the heart of Roshar, there existed a cherished tradition: the Par Party—a celebration to honor the birth of one's dragon partner. It was a rite of passage for all aspiring Breeders, a moment of pride and joy usually marked during the first year of the Basic Class.
But Zack had long since missed that milestone.
Three years had come and gone, and still, his Par had not been born. Now a student in the Advanced Class, Zack had quietly buried any hopes of experiencing that tradition for himself. Or so he thought.
The recent attack by the Necromancia had shaken the entire Academy. As a result, the students were granted a much-needed day of rest. It was Roderika—fiery and elegant as ever—who proposed the idea.
"Let's throw Zack a proper Pal Party," she had said, with that commanding sparkle in her eyes. "He's earned it."
Zack had been grateful… and mortified. His room was a disaster zone.
A month ago, Matt had done him the favor of cleaning it while grumbling the entire time. But now, it had returned to its natural, untamed state—clothes on the floor, books scattered, plates from late-night snacks stacked like ancient ruins.
"Guess I better get to it… no way I'm letting anyone see this mess," Zack muttered under his breath.
Armed with a rag and sheer determination, he began dusting the shelves, coughing as clouds of dust rose like vengeful spirits. Ico was curled up in his bed, naked under his sheets, her soft breathing punctuated by quiet murmurs as she drifted through her dreams.
"Zzz… Zzz…"
The sunlight filtering through the window fell across her bare shoulders and down her exposed back, highlighting the smooth curves of her body beneath the silk sheets. Zack glanced her way for just a moment, cheeks flushing, before forcing himself to focus.
This was no time for distractions. He turned back to the chaos.
First, he tossed all the trash into a growing pile—crumpled notes, torn parchment, half-eaten sweets. Then came the closet: old uniforms, books he'd never open again, spare boots with holes in the soles. He worked like a machine—until something soft thudded at his feet.
"…What the—?" He bent down and picked it up.
A stuffed toy.
Ragged and worn, the thing was small and a little lumpy. With stubby wings and mismatched horns, it looked more like a Chimera than a dragon. Definitely not cute by any conventional standard. Zack frowned. He wasn't the type to collect plush toys. Not even close.
But as he turned it over in his hands, something flickered in the back of his mind—an image. A girl's voice. A memory, half-drowned in time.
"Where did this even come from…?" he murmured.
There was warmth in the memory, like a fire long since faded, but the details escaped him. He knew—somehow—that this toy had meant something once. That it had been a gift. But the why… was lost.
Shaking his head, Zack tucked the plush back into the depths of his closet.
"No way I'm letting anyone see this," he muttered, his face warming again. "Roderika would never let me hear the end of it."
As he closed the closet door, Ico shifted under the covers, one slender leg sliding out from beneath the blanket, her skin glowing in the dappled light. Zack's breath caught for a second—but then he turned away quickly, sighing.
"Gotta clean faster before she wakes up…"
The Par Party was tonight. And this time, it was his turn to be celebrated.