Page 70 of Darkbirch Academy

“We need to move,” I tell my teammates, gesturing toward the end of the corridor. “The rest of our team—where are they?” It’s a rhetorical question, because I already sense them scattered around various parts of the building, but with a concentration two floors up.

Riona confirms this, still staring at me with wide eyes, then asks, “What happened to you, Esme? Your aura is...”

“Later,” I cut her off. “We need to regroup and get out of here.”

As we move past the trapped clearblood soldiers, one manages to free an arm, producing a small silver device from his pocket. Before I can react, he activates it, sending a pulse of energy rippling through the air.

The wave hits me like a physical blow, staggering me backward. It’s a signature amplifier—designed to boost magical signatures to make them easier to track. My newly enhanced darkblood signature must now be broadcasting like a beacon throughout Heathborne.

“Run!” I shout to Riona and Atlas. “They’ll be coming for us now.”

We sprint down the corridor toward the central staircase. Behind us, boots thunder against stone as reinforcements respond to the amplifier’s signal. As we round the corner, we collide with another squad of clearblood operatives—elite ones this time, their uniforms bearing the silver insignia of Heathborne’s special forces.

“Take cover!” Atlas yells, diving behind a stone column as energy bolts streak past us.

I don’t follow his lead. Instead, I step forward, directly into the path of fire. Riona screams my name, but I barely hear her. Something is rising within me—instinct, power, knowledge that isn’t entirely my own. The runes on my wrist flare to life, their pattern spreading up my arm in intricate whorls.

The first energy bolt strikes me squarely in the chest—or it should have. Instead, it dissolves inches from my skin,absorbed by a barrier I didn’t consciously create. The next three bolts meet the same fate, dissipating harmlessly against an invisible shield that seems to pulse with my heartbeat.

“What the hell?” one of the operatives mutters, adjusting the settings on his weapon.

I feel a smile spread across my face—predatory, confident, unfamiliar. “My turn,” I whisper.

I thrust both hands forward, and darkness erupts from my palms—not the controlled shadows from before, but something wilder, more primal. It surges forward like living smoke, engulfing the squad of operatives before they can retreat. Their screams cut off abruptly as the darkness solidifies, cocooning each of them in separate prisons of shadow.

“Esme...” Riona’s voice is barely audible, tinged with awe and something like fear. “How are you doing that?”

I stare at my hands, watching as tendrils of shadow continue to dance between my fingers. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It just... responds to me.”

Before Riona can reply, another explosion rocks the building, this one closer than the last. Dust and fragments of stone rain down from the ceiling.

“We need to keep moving,” I say, already turning toward the staircase.

We race up the steps and I take them two at a time. The landing at the top opens into a large atrium—Heathborne’s grand hall, its vaulted ceiling rising three stories above us. And there, engaged in fierce combat with a battalion of clearblood elite guards, are at least forty Darkbirch operatives. They’ve formed a defensive perimeter around the room’s center, using overturned furniture and debris as cover. Energybolts and necrotic blasts crisscross the space, leaving scorch marks on the ancient stone walls.

Among them, I spot Corvin, his tall frame unmistakable as he directs our forces. Beside him, Isander’s leathery wings snap open as he launches into the air, avoiding a barrage of suppression bolts before diving toward a group of clearbloods, his midnight-speckled eyes gleaming with focus.

Two figures dart through the shadows at the edges of the battle, too graceful to be human. One emerges into a shaft of moonlight from the shattered skylight above: Lirienne, a female fae with obsidian skin, her eyes glowing with an ethereal violet light. With a flick of her wrists, she summons thorny vines that burst from the stone floor, entangling three clearblood guards. A second fae with hair the color of autumn leaves, Laken, arrives at her side, assisting her.

Three more vampires emerge from a side corridor, launching into the fray to assist Isander.

“There!” Riona points toward a gap in the clearblood line. “We can break through there!”

Before I can answer, Corvin turns, spotting me through the chaos. His expression shifts, eyes widening in a mixture of relief and something else—alarm? He gestures frantically toward me, shouting something I can’t hear over the chaos of battle.

“Esme!” His voice finally breaks through, powerful enough to carry across the atrium. “Isander! Extract Esme now! All units retreat to extraction points! Fall back to Darkbirch!”

Isander’s head snaps in my direction, his wings already unfurling to their full span. He launches himself over thebattle, dodging energy bolts with grace, his trajectory aimed directly at me.

Operatives begin disengaging, laying down cover fire as they back toward the exits. It’s a coordinated withdrawal, clearly planned in advance. They came here with explicit orders—get me out, then leave immediately.

Isander lands before me in a powerful rush of air and flashes me a grin. “Time to go.” He’s already moving, arms wrapping around my waist as his wings snap open. Then we’re airborne, his powerful wings propelling us upward toward the shattered skylight. The battle recedes below us, growing smaller with alarming speed.

We burst through into the night air, the cool breeze a shock against my skin. Below, Heathborne is in chaos—magical alarms blaring, lights flashing, figures rushing through the courtyard. I glimpse our team executing a perfect fighting retreat, covering each other as they make for the extraction points at the perimeter.

Wind whips my hair across my face as we ascend, the castle shrinking beneath us. But even as we gain altitude, my mind races. Dayn’s words echo uncomfortably in my thoughts.

Your grandmother wanted you transformed. More powerful. More valuable to your coven.

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