Page 62 of Darkbirch Academy

I gasp as our contact breaks, his blood still on my lips, my body humming with energy. The chamber seems to spin around me, the streaks of colored light blurring. My legs tremble, threatening to give way beneath me. I clutch at Dayn for support, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.

“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying me with both hands now that I’ve released his wrist. The wound there is already closing, the dark blood slowing to a trickle before stopping completely. “The first time is... intense.”

That’s an understatement. My entire body feels electrified, my senses heightened to an almost painful degree. I can hear the slow drip of water somewhere deep in the stone walls, smell the ancient dust and the copper tang of blood in the air. Even Dayn’s heat against my skin seems magnified, each point of contact between us like a brand.

“You should have warned me,” I manage to say, my voice sounding distant and strange to my own ears.

“Didn’t I?” he asks, one hand still at my waist, keeping me upright.

I try to pull away, needing space to process the riot of sensations coursing through me, but my limbs refuse to cooperate. A wave of dizziness hits me, and I sway dangerously.

“The disorientation will pass,” Dayn says, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. “Give it a moment.”

“What did you... see?” I ask, suddenly remembering hiswords about blood carrying memory. The thought of him witnessing fragments of my past makes me feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with my state of undress.

He’s quiet for a beat too long. “Enough,” he finally says, the word heavy with meaning.

Before I can press him further, he releases me abruptly, stepping back as if he too needs distance. The sudden absence of his heat leaves me cold, my skin prickling with goosebumps. I reach for my discarded top, pulling it on with hands that aren’t quite steady.

“The ritual,” I remind him, desperate to focus on something concrete. “We should continue.”

Dayn nods, turning toward the altar where Mazrov still lies unconscious. His back is to me now, the intricate patterns beneath his skin shifting with each movement like living tattoos. He looks to one side, and I notice a smear of my blood on his lips before he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“Are you ready?” he asks, not looking at me as he pulls his own shirt back on, fingers working quickly at the buttons.

I’m not sure what I’m ready for anymore. My body still hums with foreign energy, my thoughts scattered and unfocused. But I nod anyway, moving to join him at the altar.

“What happens now?” I ask, working to keep my voice level.

“Now,” Dayn says, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals my breath, “we unbind a dragon.”

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Iswallow hard and force my mind to focus despite the dizzying effects of Dayn’s blood still coursing through my veins.He moves with methodical precision, arranging the collected items in a specific pattern around Mazrov’s unconscious form.

“Stand here,” Dayn directs, pointing to a spot directly opposite him across the altar.

I take my position, watching as he uncorks the vial of moonfire flower essence. The iridescent liquid catches the light from the convergence streams, fracturing it into prismatic patterns across the stone walls.

“Your hands,” he says, extending his own across Mazrov’s body.

I hesitate before placing my palms against his. His skin burns against mine, the contact sending another jolt of awareness through my system. The wound on my neck throbs in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of our exchange.

“The ritual has three phases,” Dayn explains, his voicetaking on a formal cadence I haven’t heard before. “Severance, dissolution, and release. We must complete all three before the convergence lights shift.”

“And if we don’t?”

His eyes meet mine, deadly serious. “Let’s focus on succeeding.”

Without further preamble, Dayn begins to chant in a language I don’t recognize—guttural and fluid, with syllables that seem to fold back on themselves in impossible ways. The runes beneath his skin pulse brighter with each word, and I feel answering vibrations from the marks on my wrist.

The air in the chamber grows heavy, pressing against my skin like a physical weight. The convergence streams begin to undulate, their colors intensifying until they’re almost painful to look at directly.

“Now,” Dayn says between phrases of the incantation, “pour the moonfire essence over the relic.”

I release his hands and reach for the vial, my movements steady despite the power building in the room. The liquid seems alive as I pour it over the Relic of Severance, flowing not downward but inward, absorbed completely by the ancient object. The relic begins to glow from within, pulsing in rhythm with Dayn’s chanting.

“Sprinkle the ash,” he directs, never breaking the flow of his incantation. “Around him.”

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