Page 42 of Darkbirch Academy

“The binding spell that constrains me operates on fundamental magical principles,” he explains, leading us through an arched doorway on the far side of the chamber. “To break it requires elements that embody those same principles. The convergence water represents pure magical potential—neither darkblood nor clearblood, but the raw source from which both traditions draw.”

The next passage slopes downward steeply, with crude steps carved into the floor. The runes along these walls glow brighter, pulsing with increasingly visible energy. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“The clearbloods have no idea what’s beneath their precious academy, do they?” I ask, feeling the surge of raw magic against my skin even through the suppressing effect of my silver tablet.

Dayn’s laugh is short and cold. “They built here deliberately, to control the convergence. But over generations, I suspect most forgot what they were guarding and why.” He glances back at me, eyes reflecting my light spell. “Institutional memory is surprisingly fragile. Something your coven understands well.”

I want to ask what he means by that, but the sudden intensification of the runes’ glow distracts me. They’re pulsing faster now, their light casting animated shadows across Dayn’s features.

“Something’s wrong,” I say, instinctively reaching for my knife. “The runes shouldn’t be?—”

“Down!” Dayn shouts, spinning toward me.

I drop instinctively as a blast of pure energy erupts from the wall beside me, scorching the air where I stood a heartbeat earlier. The tunnel fills with blinding light and the smell of ozone.

Before I can react, Dayn lunges forward, grabbing my wrist with bruising force. He yanks me forward as another energy blast erupts behind us, this one powerful enough to crack the stone floor. We run now, no longer concerned with stealth as the entire passage system seems to awaken around us.

“Defensive system,” Dayn calls out between breaths. “Triggered by prolonged presence near the runes.”

Another blast strikes the ceiling ahead, raining stone fragments down. Dayn swerves, pulling me through a side passage I hadn’t even noticed. His grip on my wrist burns, but I can’t pull away without risking separation in the increasingly chaotic tunnel system.

We emerge into a larger chamber just as the most powerful blast yet strikes. The shock wave throws us both forward. I crash hard against Dayn’s back, and we tumble together onto the stone floor as the passage behind us partially collapses.

And that’s when it happens.

The moment his skin connects with mine—his hand still gripping my wrist, my body pressed against his—something like electricity arcs between us. But it’s not pain I feel. It’s awareness. Sudden, overwhelming awareness of Dayn—not just his physical presence but something deeper, more fundamental. I feel the ancient fire at his core, the weight ofcenturies pressing on him, the constant strain of maintaining human form around something vast and inherently different from humanity.

From his sudden stillness and the flaring gold of his eyes, I know he’s experiencing something similar—a flash of access to my essence, my connection to death and ancestors, the magic that flows through Salem bloodlines.

We break apart almost violently, scrambling away from each other. My heart pounds as if I’ve run miles, and my skin tingles where he touched me.

“What the hell was that?” I demand, my voice unsteady.

Dayn stands slowly, brushing dust from his clothes with an outward calm betrayed by the lingering gold in his eyes. “An unexpected complication... likely triggered by the electric atmosphere.”

“Don’t evade,” I snap, keeping my distance. “That was some kind of magical connection. I felt—” I stop, unwilling to articulate exactly what I felt. “Explain. Now.”

He studies me for a long moment, visibly deciding how much to reveal. “Dragon magic and darkblood magic have certain... compatibilities that neither side cares to acknowledge.”

“Bullshit.” The word echoes in the cavernous space. “Pure darkblood magic connects to ancestors and death. Dragon magic is about fire and transformation. They’re fundamentally different.”

“Are they?” Dayn counters. “Both draw power from life force—you from the preserved essence of your ancestors, dragons from our own internal flame. Both manipulate energy that clearbloods can only access indirectly through structured spells and rituals.”

I shake my head, unwilling to accept this connection. “Even if that were true, it doesn’t explain what just happened when you touched me.”

Dayn sighs, a sound like steam escaping. “During the ancient wars, before the clearblood-darkblood schism, certain darkblood families discovered they could form magical bonds with dragons—connections that amplified both sides’ abilities.”

The implications hit me like another blast wave. “You’re saying darkbloods and dragons were allies?”

“Initially.” His expression darkens. “Until your ancestors discovered they could use those bonds to control dragons. To drain our power.”

“That’s not—” I begin, but uncertainty stops me. My knowledge of that ancient history is fragmented at best. The Purification Crusades destroyed so many of our historical records.

“Your coven wouldn’t preserve that particular history,” Dayn says, reading my hesitation. “The Salem line was especially adept at forming these bonds. It’s why your family rose to prominence among darkbloods.”

Anger flares in me, hot and defensive. “If that were true, dragons wouldn’t be nearly extinct while darkbloods are hunted to the edge of survival. You’re twisting history to suit yourself.”

“Am I?” His voice sharpens. “Who do you think taught clearbloods to fear darkblood magic? Who showed them the techniques to suppress your powers? Dragons survived your ancestors’ betrayal, Salem. We just chose a different path than outright war.”

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