A torrent of flame roars toward me. Something snaps inside—not my control, but my patience. I slam my shadow blades together, closing my eyes and letting the memory of the arena consume me.
Don’t fight it,Dayn’s voice whispers against the shell of my ear, a ghost of sensation that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.It’s part of you now. My blood knows the way. Let it guide you.
His heat against my back, his hand caging mine in the pillar, the raw, blistering torrent of our magic fusing into a vortex of black and gold.
I pull on that memory, on the echo of his essence still thrumming in my veins. The shadow in my hands answers, but it is no longer cold and empty. It drinks the phantom heat of Dayn’s magic, twisting, coiling, igniting from within.
My eyes snap open.
The blades are no longer pure darkness. They burn now, laced with flickering veins of molten gold. I drive the corrupted shadow blades directly into Rogon’s torrent of flame.
There is no explosion. Instead, the fire is devoured. My bladesdrink the heat, swallowing the inferno until nothing is left but a trail of dying embers. The gold in my weapons burns brighter, hotter.
Colonel Rogon stumbles back, his face a mask of disbelief and horror. “What sorcery is this?”
I don’t have an answer. I only know that the hunger inside me, the one that craves Dayn’s blood, is purring with satisfaction. I take a step forward, the tips of my fiery shadow blades scraping against the stone floor, leaving glowing gouges in their wake.
I edge toward the Salem disc, keeping my gaze locked on him. “Perhaps we could discuss this like civilized beings?”
As he lunges again, I grab the disc and sprint down the aisle toward the main exit—but guards suddenly flood through the doorway. Around me, torches ignite along the walls in synchronized bursts of light—some ancient security measure.
Rogon unleashes hell behind me. Fireballs streak through the air in rapid succession—even from the direction of the guards. I wrap my shadows around me for protection, but one fireball catches me in the shoulder. My shadow cloak absorbs the heat, but the agony still tears a scream from my throat as the impact hurls me forward.
I crash into the wall. Dazed, I struggle to my feet, mentally cataloging my injuries through waves of pain. Nothing broken—yet.
Rogon's not finished. His hands trace a rapid, elegant pattern through the air, conjuring a shimmering pulse that ripples toward me. The casual mastery of the gesture catches me off guard. I barely comprehend what's happening before it strikes.
“Clearblood magic,” he laughs as the invisible force slams into me, catapulting me backward through the wall.
My body crashes into the street with a sickening thud, lungs emptying on impact. Where the Repository wall once stood, a gaping wound now bleeds rubble across the cobblestones. I lie motionless, each breath a knife between my ribs. Dark energy pulses beneath my skin—it moved without command, cocooning me at the moment of impact… The only explanation for why I'm still breathing.
Rogon emerges through the dust cloud, flanked by guards withdrawn weapons. “Consider this your education in dragon respect,” he snarls, snatching a sword from the nearest soldier.
I try to push myself up, but my vision swims. A jagged chunk of masonry pins my right leg to the ground. Blood trickles warm down my shoulder blade.
“Clearblood magic?” I wheeze as dust coats my throat. “Even for you, that's beneath contempt.”
“For snakes like you, Salem, I'll use whatever means necessary.” Rogon looms over me, sword raised high—its double-edged blade catching moonlight along its lethal edge. “Treason. Espionage. Breaking and entering. Theft. The sentence for any one offense is death for your kind. You've earned it four times over.”
I raise my palm toward him but the energy inside me suddenly isn't responding—it's preoccupied elsewhere, sending strange ripples beneath my skin. A tingling warmth spreads across my ribcage, air rushing back into my lungs without my conscious effort.
“WAIT!” I gasp as his blade arcs downward. “Lord Daynthazar's blood—I drank some of it, and it's doing something inside me!”When all else fails, go for shock tactics.
Rogon freezes mid-swing, his face contorting between murderous intent, surprise, and reluctant curiosity.
“Palace guards approaching, sir,” one of his men calls out.
Another shifts nervously. “Perhaps we should detain her instead?”
“Silence!” Rogon barks without taking his eyes off me. “Explain yourself. Now.”
I gesture at the scorched ground around us. “You witnessed it yourself. The shadow shield. The way it redirected your flames. That's not standard darkblood ability. The dragon essence is changing me. Right now. You can't just execute me.”
“She’s right.”
The sword jerks sideways as if yanked by invisible hands. It clatters against cobblestones ten feet away.
Time suspends in the silence that follows. My vision sharpens enough to see the angry red welts blooming across Rogon's palms, the way his massive frame has gone rigid with shock. Rogon's jawslackens, his eyes widening as they fill with rage and—unexpectedly—a flash of primal fear.
