FOURTH WING: FALLEN KNIGHT
In the hallowed, cutthroat halls of Basgiath War College, knowledge is the deadliest weapon of all.
Caden is a ghost. Once a promising scribe, he is now a broken archivist, tending to the dusty tomes of the college's library, haunted by a terrible truth he helped bury two decades ago during the brutal suppression of the Aretian rebellion. He has sworn to remain silent, a fallen knight guarding a tomb of lies.
His carefully constructed exile shatters when Violet Sorrengail arrives. The fragile, brilliant daughter of the commanding general, Violet is an outcast in a world that values brute strength. Seeking refuge in the Archives, she unknowingly seeks the very truths Caden has vowed to protect.
Recognizing a kindred spirit and a sharp, inquisitive mind that could be the key to redemption, Caden makes a fateful choice. He begins a silent, dangerous game, curating Violet's education not with the college's sanctioned propaganda, but with forbidden histories and heretical theories. He becomes her unseen mentor, teaching her to see the cracks in the world her mother built.
But as Violet's understanding grows, so does the threat. The system she challenges begins to push back with lethal force. Their silent alliance must evolve into an active conspiracy. From the treacherous training grounds to the desolate badlands of the Scar, they are hunted by the very power structure Violet was born to uphold.
Their desperate flight leads them to the heart of the kingdom—the impenetrable Royal Archives of Calldyr—where the ultimate proof of General Sorrengail's treachery lies hidden. To expose it, they must pull off an impossible heist under the General's watchful eye, forcing a final, public reckoning where the price of truth may be everything they have left.
Fourth Wing: Fallen Knightis a gripping tale of loyalty, sacrifice, and the revolutionary power of a single, well-placed word in a world built on lies.
Dawn in Calldyr was not a gentle awakening. It was a cacophony of bells—temple bells, market bells, the bells of the Citadel itself—clanging across the city, heralding another day of imperial business. In the cramped, musty attic of The Drowsy Wyvern, the sound was an…
Continue reading...Calldyr was a sensory assault. After the vast, silent emptiness of the Scar and the Fingers, the capital city was a roaring, stinking, vibrant cacophony that threatened to overwhelm them. The air was thick with the smells of humanity—baking bread, horse manure, coal smoke, and…
Continue reading...The descent from the Fingers was like shedding a skin of stone. The jagged cliffs and shadowed gorges gave way to rolling, scrub-covered hills. The air lost its dry, dusty chill, becoming thick and humid, carrying the rich, muddy scent of the great river that…
Continue reading...The descent into the Fingers was a journey into the earth’s broken bones. The goat track Kaelen had pointed to was little more than a scar on the cliff face, a treacherous, winding path of loose scree and crumbling rock that plunged into the deep,…
Continue reading...The storm broke just before dawn, leaving behind a world washed clean and eerily silent. The air was cold and sharp, the sky a pale, watery gray. In the hayloft, the fugitives awoke to the smell of damp earth and the distant, tentative song of…
Continue reading...