Page 43 of Darkbirch Academy

The accusation lands like a physical blow. “You’re saying dragons helped clearbloods hunt us?”

“I’m saying both our kinds made choices in an ancient conflict that neither fully remembers.” Dayn steps closer, his heat intensifying. “The irony that we now find ourselves requiring each other’s help would not be lost on our ancestors.”

I back away, mind racing with implications. If he’s right—if dragons helped develop the techniques that clearbloods use against my kind—then our current alliance is built on centuries of betrayal. Yet I can’t deny the flash of connection I felt when we touched, a resonance that felt ancient and somehow right despite everything logical telling me to run.

“We need to keep moving,” Dayn says, breaking the tense silence. “The convergence point is just ahead, and that collapse will likely attract attention.”

I follow at a careful distance, hyperaware of his movement, his heat, the space between us that seems charged with new significance. The passage widens further, opening into a perfectly circular chamber. Unlike the rough construction of the tunnels, this room was crafted with precision—a perfect dome with a small pool at its center, fed by water that seems to flow upward from the floor rather than down from above.

The water glows with shifting colors—blues, purples, occasionally flashes of gold—and gives off no reflection. It’s as if the pool contains liquid light rather than water.

“The convergence.” Dayn’s voice holds genuine reverence. “Seven ley lines meeting at a single point, creating one of the most powerful magical nexuses in existence.”

I approach the edge of the pool cautiously. The energyhere is palpable, pressing against my skin like gentle hands. I can feel the raw power pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

“This is why Heathborne was built here,” I realize aloud. “Not to educate young clearbloods, but to control this power source.”

“Finally, something we agree on.” Dayn produces a crystal vial from his pocket. “We need only a small amount. Too much, and the energy density could shatter the container—or us.”

He kneels at the pool’s edge, carefully dipping the vial into the glowing liquid. The water flows into the container of its own accord, as if eager to be collected. When the vial is half-full, Dayn withdraws it and seals it with a stopper inscribed with stabilizing runes.

“Four components gathered,” he says, tucking the vial away. “Now we need only?—”

He freezes, head tilting slightly. I hear it a moment later—footsteps, methodical and measured, approaching from a connecting passage. The particular rhythm is unmistakable.

“Mazrov. Again,” I whisper.

Dayn’s eyes scan the chamber before settling on a narrow alcove carved into the wall—barely large enough for one person, let alone two. Without discussion, he pulls me into it.

One of his arms wraps around my waist, holding me still. The memory of our earlier magical connection makes this forced proximity electric with tension. I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us, wondering if another flash of connection will occur—half fearing it, half curious.

The footsteps grow louder. From our hiding place, I can see the entrance to the chamber as Mazrov emerges. His eyes sweep the room methodically, and I hold my breath. Dayn’sarm tightens fractionally around me, whether in warning or preparation for action, I can’t tell.

Mazrov approaches the convergence pool, studying it with clinical detachment. He kneels where Dayn had been moments before, examining the ground, then reaches into the water. Unlike the welcoming flow we witnessed, the liquid seems to recoil from his touch.

“Contamination detected,” he says aloud, his voice echoing in the chamber. “Cross-reference with known breaches.”

He’s not speaking to us or to himself, I realize. He’s reporting to someone—or something.

Dayn remains perfectly still behind me, but I can feel the tension coiling in him, the subtle increase in his body temperature as the dragon responds to threat. His breath ghosts warm against my ear, and despite everything—the danger, the revelations, the centuries of conflict between our kinds—I can’t help but lean back into him for a moment, seeking the stability of his presence.

“Resuming patrol route,” Mazrov announces to his unseen audience before turning and exiting the chamber through a different passage than the one we entered through.

We remain frozen in our hiding place long after his footsteps fade, neither of us quite willing to break the forced intimacy of our position. When Dayn finally speaks, his lips are so close to my ear that I feel the words as much as hear them.

“Now we know why the defenses activated,” he murmurs. “Mazrov wasn’t here by coincidence. He’s monitoring the convergence.”

I turn slightly, finding myself face-to-face with him in the narrow alcove. This close, I can see flecks of gold in hisamber eyes, the subtle inhuman texture of his skin. “Monitoring for what?”

His gaze holds mine, filled with ancient knowledge and something that might be regret. “For exactly what we just did. He’s monitoring for intruders like us—or darkbloods—accessing Heathborne’s most revered resource… The water we took isn’t just a component for my freedom. It’s a key to something much older—something both our kinds once fought to control. Raw power.”

In this moment of fragile truth, pressed together in darkness with centuries of conflict between us, I’m struck by the weight of choices I never made but must now answer for. Salem and dragon. Darkblood and fire. Ancient allies turned bitter enemies, now forced together by circumstance.

23

The four components sit on Dayn’s desk like offerings to a forgotten demigod—moonfire essence glowing with ghostly blue light, elder blood, dark and viscous in its crystal vial, the pouch of ancestor ash that seems to pulse with my own heartbeat, and the convergence water shifting colors like a trapped aurora. I keep my distance from them and Dayn, the memory of our magical connection still burning under my skin like a brand I never asked for. His chambers feel smaller now, the walls closer, the air between us charged with unspoken complications.

“Four components,” Dayn says, arranging them in a precise diamond pattern. “Each representing a fundamental magical principle. And we have the Relic of Severance, safely stored in my bedroom. Now, there’s just one final element we need.”

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