# CHAPTER 3: The Weight of Survival
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review CHAPTER 3 of "Fourth Wing" — and let me tell you, this chapter is an absolute emotional gut-punch from the very first sentence to the last. If you thought surviving the parapet was intense, just wait until you see what waits on the other side. We've got old friends, dangerous enemies, dragons the size of buildings, and one very terrifying wingleader who seems determined to make Violet's life a living hell. So grab your mugs of something strong, settle in, and let me take you through every heart-pounding moment of this incredible chapter.
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The moment Violet's boots hit solid ground on the other side of the parapet, the relief should have been overwhelming. She had survived. Against every odd — against her own fragile bones, against the wind, against Jack Barlowe's murderous intentions — she had made it across. But the luxury of relief wasn't something the Riders Quadrant would ever grant. The redhead with the crossbow, the same one who'd been keeping the death toll, delivered the first warning with a casualness that made Violet's blood run cold: she had made an enemy in Jack Barlowe, and if she were smart, she'd watch her back. Violet didn't need the warning. She knew. Every part of her body understood just how much danger she was in now.
Then, hands grabbed her shoulders from behind, spinning her around with such sudden force that Violet's dagger was halfway out of its sheath before her brain caught up. It was Rhiannon. Of course it was Rhiannon, grinning like she'd just won the lottery, practically vibrating with joy. "We made it!" she exclaimed, squeezing Violet's shoulders, and Violet forced herself to smile back. They had made it. But standing here now, as official cadets of the Riders Quadrant, Violet couldn't help the treacherous thought that crept through her mind: could she really trust this girl? They had bonded on that terrifying walk across the parapet, but trust was a luxury in this place — a dangerous, potentially fatal one.
Rhiannon, blissfully unaware of Violet's internal turmoil, rambled on about how she would have fallen at least three times without Violet's help, how the boot soles were indeed slick as shit, and how she had already spotted a second-year with pink streaks in her hair and a guy with dragon scales tattooed up his entire biceps. "Conformity is for the infantry," Violet quipped, letting Rhiannon loop her arm through hers and tug her toward the growing crowd. But with every step, Violet's knee screamed in protest — pain radiating up to her hip, down to her foot, forcing her to limp and lean heavily against Rhiannon. Nausea rose unbidden. Her thighs were shaking. Her head was spinning. She was going to collapse any second now, she was sure of it.
And that's when the universe decided to throw her directly into the path of a tall figure in a pristine black uniform.
Violet stumbled, her body colliding with his chest before she could even register what was happening.
"Violet?"
Strong hands caught her elbows, steadying her, and she looked up into a pair of familiar striking brown eyes flared wide in shock. Dain. Relief washed over her so intensely she nearly cried. But the boy she remembered — the one with the beautiful easygoing smile who had starred in entirely too many of her fantasies — was not the man standing in front of her now. Dain Aetos was different. Taller. Harder. His jaw was cut with a beard she'd never seen on him, his shoulders had filled out, and the muscles of his biceps were rigid beneath her fingers. Sometime in the last year, her childhood friend had gone from attractive and cute to breathtakingly gorgeous. And he was scowling at her like she was the last person on earth he'd expected — or wanted — to see.
"What the hell are you doing here?" The words were a bark, the shock in his eyes transforming to something foreign and deadly. This wasn't the boy she'd grown up with. This was a second-year rider.
"Dain. It's good to see you." The understatement of the century. But the trembles that had been building turned to full-on shakes, bile creeping up her throat. Her knees buckled. "Damn it, Violet," he muttered, hauling her back to her feet, and before she could protest, he was guiding her away from the crowd, into a hidden alcove close to the first defensive turret — a shady spot with a hard wooden bench that she barely registered as he sat her down and helped her out of her rucksack.
"I'm going to be sick."
"Head between your knees," Dain ordered, his tone harsh and unfamiliar. He rubbed circles on her back as she breathed through the nausea, and when Rhiannon's footsteps approached, Dain's voice turned positively dangerous. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Rhiannon. I'm Violet's... friend."
Dain laid down the law without an ounce of gentleness: Violet was fine, and if anyone asked, Rhiannon would repeat exactly that — it was just the adrenaline working out of her system. Understand? But Rhiannon, who had her own fire, snapped back that it was no one's business what was going on with Violet, especially not when she was the reason Rhiannon had made it across the parapet at all. The tension between them crackled, and Violet, still hunched over, managed to clarify that Dain was one of her oldest friends. That was when Dain added, with a growl, that he was also a second-year rider, and Violet watched her new friend back up a step under the weight of his authority.
When Violet finally sat upright, Dain's gaze raked over her with desperate intensity. He needed to see every inch of her, to confirm she was truly unharmed. "My knee is sore," she admitted, because it was Dain. Dain, whom she'd known since they were five and six. Dain, whose father was one of her mother's most trusted advisers. Dain, who had held her together when Mira left for the Riders Quadrant, and again when Brennan died. She trusted him with more of herself than she trusted anyone.
His inspection was thorough — turning her face left and right, running his hands down her sides, pausing at her ribs. "Are you wearing daggers?" Three at her ribs, one in her boot. She nodded, and something shifted in his expression, like he was seeing her for the first time. Then it was gone, replaced by practical urgency. "Get your boots switched. You two look ridiculous."
The boots. Violet had entirely forgotten that she and Rhiannon had swapped footwear on the parapet — her too-large equestrian boot now riding on Rhiannon's foot, while Violet wore Rhiannon's infantry boot. Dain watched the exchange with barely concealed exasperation, and when he asked whether Violet truly trusted Rhiannon, Violet found herself nodding. Rhiannon could have waited at the safety of the citadel walls and thrown her off just like Jack had tried. She didn't. That had to count for something.
"My name is Dain Aetos," he announced to Rhiannon, "and I'm the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing." Violet's eyebrows jumped. Squad leader? That was an exceptional rank for a second-year — most were just cadets before Threshing, when the dragons chose who they would bond. Dain ordered Rhiannon to find the redhead with the crossbow and tell her that Dain Aetos had put both her and Violet Sorrengail into his squad. "Tell her she owes me from saving her ass at Threshing last year."
And then, once Rhiannon was gone, Dain turned to Violet with that same harsh urgency. They needed to get to his room. She needed to wrap that knee. And more than anything, she needed out of this place. "You crossed the parapet with an equestrian boot too big for you?" he asked incredulously. "She would have died without trading mine," Violet answered.
"You're going to die if we don't find you a way out of here."
He led her through a tunnel in the outer wall, one she hadn't even seen from the alcove — mage lights flickering on as they passed, extinguishing behind them like magic footsteps. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Well aware."
"You're supposed to be in the Scribe Quadrant. What the hell happened? Please tell me you did not volunteer for the Riders Quadrant."
"What do you think happened?"
The answer hung in the air between them. "Your mother." "My mother. Every Sorrengail is a rider, don't you know?"
They climbed circular stairs up to the third floor — the second-year floor, where Violet was obviously not supposed to be. If someone caught them, Dain joked darkly, he'd just say he was overcome with lust at first sight and couldn't wait to get her out of her pants. Ever the smart-ass, Violet offered to throw in a few breathy "oh, Dain" cries just for believability, and despite everything, that earned her a snort and a wry smile.
His room was simple — bed, dresser, desk, wardrobe, nothing personal except the few books on his desk. Violet felt a tiny burst of satisfaction spotting the tome on the Krovlan language she had given him last summer. Through the arched window, she could see Basgiath across the ravine — the same war college and yet an entirely different world. Two more candidates were still on the parapet, but she looked away. She couldn't watch another person fall. She had reached her maximum capacity for death today.
Dain let her wrap her knee in peace, turning to face the door like a gentleman. "You'd better get that leg wrapped. I won't look."
"It's nothing you haven't seen before."
She worked quickly — an practiced motion she'd been doing since she was old enough for the healers to teach her. Her ligaments were faulty, her joints weak, and if anyone else had taken that stumble on the parapet, they'd have walked away with a bruise. Violet had to wrap her knee properly or risk her kneecap going somewhere it didn't belong. It was a grim reminder: she was starting the Riders Quadrant wounded, with a body that had always betrayed her.
All covered. He turned, took her in with new eyes. "You look... different."
"It's the leathers. Is different bad?"
"It's just... different." He teased his lower lip with his teeth, and Violet couldn't resist. "Why, Dain Aetos. You've seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it's the leather that does it for you?" He scoffed, but there was a flush on his cheeks. "Glad to see our year apart hasn't dulled your tongue, Vi."
"Oh," she tossed over her shoulder as they headed back into the hallway, "I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You'd be impressed."
His eyes heated. For just a moment, neither of them was thinking about the Riders Quadrant or the death they'd witnessed or the dangers that lay ahead. They were just the same two kids who had grown up together through every military post, sneaking off to swim in rivers and climb trees.
But Dain shook his head like he needed to clear it. "We have to get you out of here." He laid out his plan with the confidence of a soldier: there was a door at the bottom of the stairwell, below the main level, leading into a passage that would take her to the Healers Quadrant and then into the Scribe Quadrant. She could still ace the scribe test. She could have a phenomenal story to tell when she was older.
Violet stopped dead on the landing. "I can't go to the Scribe Quadrant, Dain."
"I'm sorry?"
"She won't stand for it."
His fists clenched. "This place will kill you, Violet. You can't stay here. Everyone will understand. You didn't volunteer — not really."
And there it was — the thing that made Violet's blood boil, that sent anger bristling up her spine. Everyone thinking they knew what was best for her. Everyone assuming she couldn't hack it, that she was too breakable, too fragile, too *less than*. "One, I'm well aware of what my chances are here, Dain. And two, usually fifteen percent of candidates don't make it past the parapet, and I'm still standing, so I guess I'm beating those odds already."
But Dain pressed on, his desperation making him cruel. She'd break the first time they put her in the sparring ring. And even if she survived to Threshing, there was no guarantee a dragon would bond her — last year thirty-four healthy unbonded cadets had waited to try again, and they all had fully functioning bodies, unlike—
"Don't be an asshole." The words came out sharp and wounded. She didn't want to hear that. She couldn't bear to hear him say it.
"I'm trying to keep you alive!" His shout echoed off the stone. "Do you think I want to watch my best friend die? Do you think it'll be fun to see what they'll do to you, knowing you're General Sorrengail's daughter? Putting on leathers doesn't make you a rider, Vi. They're going to tear you to shreds, and if they don't, the dragons will. In the Riders Quadrant, you either graduate or die, and you know that. Let me save you." His entire posture drooped, and the plea in his eyes cut right through her indignation. "Please let me save you."
"You can't." The words came out as a whisper, and the weight behind them made his face fall. "She said she'd haul me right back. I either leave here as a rider or as a name on a stone."
"She didn't mean it. She can't mean that."
"She means it. Even Mira couldn't talk her out of it."
The truth settled over him like a shroud. "Shit."
"Yeah. Shit." she shrugged, like it wasn't her life they were discussing.
Dain shifted gears, visibly adapting to this new reality — because that was who Dain was. He would never stop adapting, never stop trying to protect her. "All right. We'll find another way. For now, let's go." He led her back to the alcove, squeezed her hand with desperate tenderness, and disappeared back into the tunnel to enter from the other door. The last thing he told her: don't give anyone ammunition.
Violet stepped into the dappled sunlight of the courtyard, gripping her rucksack straps. The massive courtyard was shaped like an angular teardrop, capable of fitting a thousand riders, with the outer wall looming impossibly thick at one end and the academic and dormitory buildings flanking the sides. She found Rhiannon in the growing crowd, already talking to another first-year — Tara, from the Morraine province along the Emerald Sea, with jet-black hair cut as short as Dain's and that same air of confidence Mira had. Violet paid attention, filing away details in case she needed allies. Because in this place, allies were survival.
An hour passed. Then another. The bells rang, and the last of the cadets walked into the courtyard, followed by the three riders from the other turret. Xaden was among them. It wasn't just his height that made him stand out — it was the way everyone seemed to move around him, like he was a shark and they were all fish giving him a wide berth. He strode to the dais with lethal grace, and even the third-years seemed to scurry out of his way.
Commandant Panchek stepped forward with a politician's smile, and Violet forced herself to focus. Three hundred and one had survived the parapet. Sixty-seven had not. Almost twenty percent. *Sixty-seven people died trying to get here.* Her chest clenched as the number sank in — more than average. Was it the rain? The wind? Or just the brutal whims of fate?
"Your instructors will teach you. It's up to you how well you learn," Panchek announced, his hands sweeping to the line of professors. "Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved..." A sinister smile spread across his face. "You don't want me involved. With that said, I'll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don't die."
The section leaders and squad leaders took their positions. Dain stood in the Second Wing formation, averting his eyes from Violet. One by one, squads were called, names read. Jack Barlowe was assigned to Flame Section of First Wing. Tara went to Tail Section. Violet breathed a small sigh of relief when the Fourth Wing's wingleader stepped forward and it wasn't Xaden — until the section assignments came. She and Rhiannon were called to Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. Dain's squad. They fell into formation, two second-years, an executive squad leader, and nine first-years.
And then — with a slight tilt to his lips that made Violet instantly queasy — Xaden made his move.
"Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven's," Nyra ordered.
The breath froze in Violet's lungs. They were moving to Fourth Wing. To Xaden's wing. The smirk on Xaden's arrogant, handsome face said everything: she was now entirely at his mercy, a subordinate in his chain of command. He could punish her however he liked for the slightest infraction — even imaginary ones. Her heart galloped like a runaway horse as Xaden stepped forward to address the assembled cadets.
"You're all cadets now. Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can't end your life doesn't mean others won't. You want a dragon? Earn one."
Most of the others cheered. Violet kept her mouth shut. Sixty-seven people had died today — just like Dylan, whose parents would collect their bodies or watch them buried at the foot of the mountain under simple stones. She would not cheer for their loss.
Xaden's eyes found hers, and her stomach clenched before he looked away. He continued his speech, building the crowd's excitement, riling them up about how invincible they felt, how untouchable, how elite. The cheers grew louder and louder, and then...
A sound rose above the noise. Not cheering. Something deeper, primal — the beating of massive wings.
"Oh gods, they're beautiful," Rhiannon whispered.
Eight dragons came into view — a riot of color, huge semitranslucent wings whipping the air as they pitched vertically and landed on the outer semicircular wall. Their razor-sharp talons dug into the stone, and Violet finally understood why the walls were ten feet thick. The edge of the fortress wasn't a barrier. It was a *perch*.
A few cadets screamed. Everyone wanted to be a dragon rider until they were actually twenty feet away from one.
Steam blasted Violet's face as the navy-blue dragon directly in front of her exhaled through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rose in an elegant lethal sweep, and its golden eyes narrowed with absolute judgment. They were all massive — three shades of red, two shades of green like Mira's Teine, one brown like her mother's, one orange, and the enormous navy one. If they didn't need puny humans to develop signet abilities and weave the protective wards around Navarre, Violet was pretty sure they'd eat them all and be done.
And then a cadet broke. Screaming, he bolted from Third Wing, making a run for the stone keep. Violet could almost see the words carved into the arch from here: *A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.*
The red dragon on the left opened its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as Violet, and fire erupted along its tongue — a macabre blaze that shot toward the fleeing cadet. He was a pile of ash on the gravel before he could even reach the shadow of the keep.
Sixty-eight dead.
More heat to her left. Then right. Seventy.
The navy dragon seemed to tilt its head at Violet, its narrowed golden eyes seeing straight through her — seeing the fear fisting her stomach, the doubt wrapped around her heart, the wrap binding her knee. It knew she was at a disadvantage. It knew she was too small, too frail. Dragons always knew.
But Violet would not run. She hadn't survived this long by quitting every time something seemed impossible. *I will not die today.* The words repeated in her head like a sacred prayer. She forced her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and stared the dragon down.
The navy dragon blinked — perhaps approval, perhaps boredom — and looked away.
"Anyone else feel like changing their mind?" Xaden shouted, scanning the rows of cadets. "No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer. A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri's second son died during his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you've made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?"
No one cheered.
Another blast of steam hit Violet directly in the face as the dragons finished their simultaneous exhale, and the breeches of the first-year ahead of her darkened. They wanted them scared. Mission accomplished.
"Because you're not untouchable or special to them." Xaden pointed toward the navy dragon, leaning forward like he was letting them in on a secret, his eyes locking directly on Violet's. "To them, you're just the prey."
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The next morning, Violet stood in silent formation wearing rider black, a single silver four-pointed star marking her collarbone as a first-year, a Fourth Wing patch on her shoulder. The standard uniforms had been issued after Parapet, but not flight leathers — there was no point handing those out when half of them wouldn't be alive by Threshing. Mira's armored corset wasn't regulation, but Violet fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around her. The Riders Quadrant, she was learning, was a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and brutal efficiency.
Captain Fitzgibbons read the death roll. Name after name after name — the only memorial these sixty-seven would ever get, the only time they'd be spoken of within the citadel walls. Violet tried to commit each name to memory, tried to honor them, but there were just too many. She lost count somewhere in the fifties, after Dylan's name had been read. So many dead. So many families shattered. And the Riders Quadrant wasn't done with them yet.
The sky was clear. The sun was rising. And Violet Sorrengail — fragile-boned, determined, and marked for a wingleader's vengeance — was still standing.
For now.
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**Reader's Impressions & Star Rating:**
Oh my gods, this chapter was *exhausting* in the best possible way. The emotional rollercoaster Violet goes through — from relief at seeing Dain to the gut-wrenching argument where he begs her to let him save her — had me completely hooked. Dain's desperation is so palpable you can practically feel it radiating off the page, and the way Violet stands her ground even though she's terrified is just incredibly powerful. The Xaden shift at the end is masterfully done, honestly. One minute she's safe in Dain's squad, the next she's under the command of the man whose entire life was destroyed by her family — you can almost hear the trap snapping shut. And the dragon scene? Absolutely breathtaking. That image of eight dragons landing on the fortress wall with cadets screaming and one being incinerated on the spot — it's brutal, it's terrifying, and it makes you understand exactly what kind of world Violet has entered. The chapter smartly showcases Violet's strength, her vulnerability, and her place in this lethal political game with Xaden that she never even knew she was playing. The way she mentally counts the dead — sixty-seven, then sixty-eight, then seventy — is such a devastating detail. This is storytelling at its finest.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
**Next Chapter Prediction:**
I predict the next chapter will throw Violet headfirst into the brutal reality of Rider Quadrant training — sparring rings, physical conditioning, and the relentless pressure to prove herself despite her fragile body. But the real threat is Xaden. Now that she's officially under his command in Fourth Wing, he has every opportunity to make her life absolute hell — legally, "by the book," in ways no one can question. I think we'll see the first real test of Violet's willpower and resourcefulness, possibly with Dain trying to work around the system to protect her from a safe distance, and Rhiannon proving whether she's a true ally or just a fair-weather friend. Also, I would not be surprised if Xaden singles Violet out publicly in an attempt to break her — and I suspect she's going to surprise everyone, including herself, with how much fight she has in her.
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