Nyssa rolls her eyes, then walks away. I watch her for a moment, then slide back into my room and go over every memory of Draethys’s military institute. Every access point I saw, every corridor and staircase, every dampening rune and protection spell carved on the walls. I memorized the institute’s blueprint as well.
Among those details is my way in and out of the Repository.
After dinner and closer to midnight, content with the silence around me, I sneak out of my room and keep to the shadows. Barefoot and light with each step, I wrap myself in shadow energy and move along the walls.
Nyssa must be sound asleep by now. I overhear Dayn’s brothers talking in one of the dining salons. Their voices echo through the palace even now, louder and rowdier—Arrynth’s, in particular. His low tolerance to spiced wine has been duly noted.
As for Dayn... I push away the image of him sprawled across his expansive bed, those silk crimson sheets tangled around his waist. Hopefully he’s just… asleep.
I make my way down the service staircase again and stop before the service doors.
They’re locked.
Naturally. I drop my shadow cloak, redirecting the energy into a makeshift key that materializes between my fingers. Once it’s unlocked, I slip outside, immediately wrapping darkness around me once more. Here, I slip my shoes back on and sprint through the streets. Only once do I falter, pressing myself against a wall as a bleary-eyed Draethian stumbles past. Then I'm running again, the military institute's silhouette growing larger with each breath.
I freeze at the base of the military institute, its stone façade looming against the sprawling darkness that is Draethys’s sky. Lungs burning, I count heartbeats while crouched in my shadow-cloak, watching the night guards sweep across the cobblestones. When they finally round the western corner, I exhale. Thankfully, the academic district sleeps deeply at this hour.
I sprint up the steps, hugging the wall until I reach the service entrance. Another shadow-key later, and I’m inside, easing the door shut behind me with barely a whisper.
Under a shadow cloak, I make my way to my target.
The Repository welcomes me with darkness. No lights flicker to life at my intrusion, which is a small mercy. Cold air wraps around me despite the clutter of artifacts filling the space, some glowing withfaint blue-green luminescence that guides my steps through the aisles.
I navigate the labyrinth of shelves until I spot it: the glass case housing Arturius Salem's disc. My fingers trace the metal edging and release the casing. I draw in a deep breath, momentarily relinquishing my shadow energy cloak. I’m not sure how this artifact will react to my touch, and I want to approach it with a blank slate.
My hand slowly closes around the Salem disc, and… nothing happens. It’s simply cool and heavy in my palm. I’m not complaining. Time to run.
I need somewhere quiet to figure out how to work this. The disc's runes are powerful—an enhancement charm that might be capable of blasting me straight out of this pit. All I need is a wall or passage near the surface. Not exactly a cakewalk but beats the alternative.
A flash of light catches my peripheral vision.
I whip around to see… a massive fireball hurtling toward my face. I drop to the floor as heat sears the air above me.
The fireball crashes into the wall, exploding into a sheet of flame.
I stare at the figure standing at the other end of the Repository.
“I knew you'd try something stupid sooner rather than later,” Colonel Rogon—the legendary dragon warrior whose kill count is probably a thousand times my age—hisses. Another fireball swells between his fingers.
Shit.
Heat sears my scalp as the second fireball whizzes past. Everything slows—my thoughts crystallize into a singular awareness: survive or die here among these ancient artifacts. Rogon's face contorts, veins bulging at his temples.
“Filth!” he bellows, charging forward with flames engulfing both fists. The orange glow illuminates his massive frame, casting monstrous shadows across the repository walls.
I pull darkness from the corners, weaving it into twin blades that materialize in my palms. My heart hammers against my ribs as I parry his first strike, then his second. Each collision sendsvibrations up my arms—shadow meeting fire with an unholy hiss that echoes through the cavernous space.
Rogon's expression falters momentarily at the sound, but his assault intensifies. My muscles strain. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds, and I'm tiring too quickly. I was already weakened from earlier today.
Shamelessly, I hurl Dayn's name like a shield. “Lord Daynthazar's protégé stands before you!”
“And a dozen broken laws stand behind you!” Rogon's blade crashes against mine with enough force to rattle my teeth.
Flames lick up the nearby wall. My scalp prickles with heat, the stench of singed hair filling my nostrils as sweat stings my eyes. My arms tremble. Three more exchanges and I'll collapse. The Salem disc now gleams on the floor, just seven steps away.
“Listen, colonel.” I force a smile through ragged breaths, calculating the distance. “That artifact bears my family's mark. Arturius Salem's blood runs in my veins. By heritage alone?—”
“By the hells with your darkblood heritage!”
