# CHAPTER 4: The Shadow of the Wingleader
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review CHAPTER 4 of *Fourth Wing* — a chapter that crackles with tension, whispered warnings, and one of the most chilling encounters Violet has faced yet. If you thought the first three chapters were intense, buckle up, because this morning at Basgiath is about to get very, very personal.
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The sun had barely kissed the fortress walls when the first-years were summoned to formation. Violet's skin was raw and angry from wearing her armor all night—a tip from Mira—and her knee throbbed with a dull, relentless ache. But she refused to show it. Not here. Not to any of them. One hundred and fifty-six first-years stood in four neat rows in the dormitory's open floor, and Violet knew, with bitter certainty, that every single one of them was a potential threat.
This morning, they read the names of the dead.
Captain Fitzgibbons closed the scroll after calling out the last name, "Simone Casteneda," and commended their souls to Malek, the god of death. Violet blinked. It had been that close, then. The line between living and dead was razor-thin here, and it had almost claimed her before she'd even begun.
There was no ceremonial ending, no moment of silence. Just the immediate scatter of squad leaders turning to address their cadets. Dain's voice boomed over the first-years, all business now, and Violet had to reconcile this stern-faced commander with the laughing boy she'd grown up beside. He reminded them to stick together, to be alive by the afternoon sparring session—a reminder that made Violet's stomach clench. She'd almost forgotten. The Gauntlet loomed in two months, then Presentation, then Threshing. She looked at her squadmates and wondered, darkly, how many of them would even make it to the flight field.
"Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you're not going to get another chance before lunch," Dain said, his eyes flicking to Violet for the briefest heartbeat before looking away. Rhiannon whispered beside her, "He's good at pretending he doesn't know you." Violet smiled softly. "He is." But even as she soaked in the sight of him—the sun catching his sandy-brown hair, a new scar peeking from his beard along his chin—she felt the weight of what was at stake.
A smart-ass first-year behind her asked what happened if they didn't survive the morning. Dain's reply was cold steel wrapped in calm. "Then I won't have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning."
The squad broke apart. A tall, wiry first-year named Sawyer—a repeat, a cadet who hadn't bonded during Threshing and had to start all over—led the first-years toward the academic wing. Violet felt a pang of sympathy for him, but also a thread of something else: pity, maybe, for a man willing to risk his life twice for the chance to ride a dragon. The second- and third-years peeled off in another direction, including Dain.
But Dain didn't leave her for long.
The bird whistle called out across the courtyard—his old signal from their childhood on the Krovlan border. Violet spotted him near the rotunda doors, and with a quick word to Rhiannon, who offered to grab her gear, she slipped away through the enormous stone doorway.
The rotunda took her breath away.
Three stories of polished marble and a domed glass ceiling pouring soft morning light into the vast circular space. Six massive pillars, each carved into a snarling dragon, rose around her in shimmering colors—red, green, brown, orange, blue, black—as if they'd crashed down from the heavens and frozen mid-strike. It was, Violet thought, the most exquisite architecture in all of Basgiath. Drawing. Magnificent. And completely empty, for now.
A hand gripped her elbow and yanked her behind the red dragon pillar. "It's just me," Dain murmured, turning her to face him. His voice was low, quick, his entire body radiating tension.
"Since you were the one birdcalling me," she grinned, but his brow furrowed as his gaze swept over her, hunting for injuries.
"How is your knee?"
"Hurts, but I'll live."
He pressed her on the night, on food, on her hair—always the hair. "You should cut it," he insisted, and Violet snapped back that her hair was the least of her concerns in the sparring ring. He was suffocating, but she understood why. He was scared for her. And that fear had purpose.
"Tell me," Violet said, dropping the playful banter. "Why was our squad moved from Second Wing to Fourth yesterday?"
He stiffened. Looked away. Then, with a ragged breath, he answered. "Xaden Riorson wants you dead. It's common knowledge among the leadership cadre after yesterday."
Her heart didn't even leap. She'd already known. "He moved the squad so he has a direct line to me. So he can do whatever he wants and no one will question it. I'm his revenge against my mother."
Dain stepped forward, cupping her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"There's not much you can do," she said, pulling free. And it was true. Xaden was a wingleader. Powerful. Untouchable. Ruthless in ways Dain couldn't fully protect her from. Violet needed to get to class.
But before she left, Dain confided the truth she didn't know she needed. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the relic of his red dragon, Cath. And his signet, so classified it earned him a compass patch beneath his Fourth Wing one—he could read a person's recent memories by touching them. Not like an inntinnsic; he had to physically connect. But still, he would become an intelligence weapon. "I am still Dain," he promised her. "And this time next year, you will still be Violet. We will still be us."
"If I'm still alive," she joked, as the bells rang out.
She walked toward the academic doors, crossing the center of the rotunda, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. A chill raced down her spine. She looked up.
Xaden Riorson was standing at the top of the steps leading to the gathering hall, arms folded across his ridiculously broad chest, his sleeves rolled up to display the intricate warning of his relic-covered arms. His dark eyes were narrowed, fixed on her like a hawk considering a mouse. Twenty feet. That was all the distance between them. Her fingers twitched toward the blades at her ribs.
Was this where he would do it? Right here, in the center of the rotunda, in front of witnesses? His head tilted, assessing her, searching for her weakest point. She held her ground.
Then his attention shifted—to her right—and one dark brow lifted. Dain emerged from behind the pillar, and Violet hissed a warning to him. He cursed, stepping closer to her as the crowd thinned.
"Let me guess," Xaden called out, his voice carrying cruel amusement across the rotunda. "Childhood friends? First loves, even?"
"He can't hurt you without cause, right?" she whispered to Dain. "Article Four, Section Three."
"Correct," Dain answered, refusing to lower his voice. "But you're not."
"I expected you to do a better job of hiding where your affections lie, Aetos," Xaden said, starting down the steps toward them.
"Run, Violet," Dain ordered. "Now."
She bolted.
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Later that morning, Violet's heart was still racing as she took her seat in Battle Brief. The lecture hall was enormous, circular and tiered, the only room in the citadel large enough to hold every cadet at once. Every seat was full, with third-years standing against the walls. Professor Devera stood in the recessed floor below, her purple Flame Section patch matching her short hair, a longsword strapped to her back as she paced before a twenty-foot-high map of the Continent.
"In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation," she began, her tone sharp and unforgiving. The map was dotted with defensive outposts, the borders marked and labeled. Mage lights filled the windowless space, bouncing off the polished floor.
Violet could barely focus. Her mind lingered on that moment in the rotunda—Xaden's dark, assessing eyes, his cruel smile, the way he'd moved toward her like a predator who had all the time in the world. He was a shadow over her day, her year, her very future. And she had no idea when, or where, he would strike.
All she knew was that he would.
And she had to survive long enough to see it coming.
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## Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
What a chapter! This one is a masterclass in tension-building. The entire scene in the rotunda with Xaden is absolutely chilling—the way he stands at the top of the stairs like a god deciding mortal fate, the subtle power play as he calls out Dain, and the sheer terror of that order to *run*—it all had my heart pounding. We also get such beautiful depth to Dain and Violet's relationship here: his fierce protectiveness, her stubborn independence, and that heartbreaking promise that they'll still be "us" despite everything this world is trying to make them become. Dain's signet reveal is fascinating, and Xaden's shrouded motives grow more ominous with every line. The setting details—that magnificent rotunda, the terrifying Battle Brief—make this world feel so alive and dangerous.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
## Next Chapter Prediction
With Xaden publicly marking Violet as his target and Dain's warning echoing in her ears, I predict we're about to see Violet pushed to her absolute limit—likely in the sparring gym, where an "accident" would be easy to stage. But I'm also suspicious that Xaden hasn't shown his true hand yet. He's called her out in the open for everyone to see, which feels like he's either laying the groundwork for something more discreet, or he's forcing her to become stronger, sharper. And with Battle Brief introducing past rebellion tensions, I think we're about to learn far more about Xaden's history with Violet's mother—and the vengeance he's been waiting years to exact. The next fight may not be with swords, but with secrets.
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