“Stone to stone,” I say, my voice not entirely my own. “Water to water. Fire to fire. And air to air.”
“Brynn, what's going on?” Chad sounds freaked. Fair enough.
The ground rumbles like we're standing on a giant's stomach.
“It's a riddle,” I say, touching one of the symbols. When I move my hand, the symbol follows like it's magnetized to my fingers. “This whole thing is basically a magical touchscreen. Earth to earth...”
I start matching symbols across the salt flat like the world's deadliest game of concentration. Two by two.
The voices in my head are practically high-fiving each other as I drag fire to fire for the final match.
“Brynn!” Chad yells.
Too late. The ground splits open like a giant mouth, and we're falling, salt and golden light swallowing us whole. No handholds, no way back up.
Just... falling.
My eyes blink open to darkness that's somehow blacker than the inside of my eyelids. Chad's groaning nearby like he just got hit by a magical freight train.
“You alive over there?” I ask, pushing myself up on my elbows. My hands press against something smooth and weirdly warm. Like, body-temperature warm. Obsidian. Perfect, polished obsidian that practically hums with old magic.
“If you ask me that one more time, I will literally claw your face off,” Chad snarls, dragging himself upright. He squints around. “What fresh hell is this?”
I haul myself to my feet and join him at the edge of our giant obsidian landing pad. Behind us is the tunnel we fell through, with those same salt flat runes flickering around it like dying Christmas lights.
“They made a freaking puzzle box,” I say, unable to stop the laugh bubbling up. “Like, 'congrats on solving our magical Rubik'scube, please proceed to the secret dragon lair.' Gotta respect the dramatics.” I tap the fading runes. “Not to brag, but this is exactly why my Salem pattern-recognition thing isn't lame. Corvin can suck it.”
“BRYNN!”
Chad’s sudden whisper yanks me out of my daze, and I’m left breathless staring at the world laid out beneath us. A city the size of a kingdom sprawls under a massive glassy dome—its obsidian and black-stone spires puncturing the ceiling. Palaces and villas cascade across the landscape, rooftop terraces and slender towers stacked like a deck of cards. Cobblestone streets zigzag between them, braziers flaming fiercely and almost dwarfing a typical darkblood home. Everything here is colossal, oversized, glowing gold in the firelight.
“This is Draethys,” I murmur, voice thick with awe. “We actually found Draethys, Chad.”
At the center of this dragon metropolis stands a grand palace, encircled by elaborate stone gardens and gargantuan dragon statues—each carved from marble or gilded gold, tails curling, wings unfurled, guardians to the pure of heart. At least, that’s the aura I’m getting.
Chad’s low growl pulls me back. “More dragons than we bargained for,” he says. “This is a problem, Brynn. A city teeming with them.”
I squint at the tiny forms below. “True, but where are they? All I see are…people.”
Chad leans out, peering down. “Remember Heathborne’s dragon? He masqueraded as a human. That’s how the academy kept him bound. They caught him in human form.”
I nod, eyebrows raised. “Makes sense they’d all stick to human shape down here. If they’d gone full dragon, Draethys would be wall-to-wall scaled beasts.”
A ragged stairwell carved into the rock leads us down from the tunnel’s mouth. With Darkbirch insignias on our cloaks, we move carefully, hugging the shadowed archway until we spill into a narrow back alley. It’s hotter here—almost suffocating—and therisk skyrockets the moment we’re spotted in our uniforms. Voices echo around us as figures emerge from doorways and hurry down the street, all shouting the same frantic warning.
“The prince is missing!”
“Lord Daynthazar is missing!”
Chad and I press against a low obsidian fence, trading puzzled glances. I shrug. A ragged voice cuts through the crowd’s panic: “The darkblood must’ve put a spell on him!”
And just like that, Draethys goes from awe-inspiring to downright perilous.
“Darkblood,” I whisper, teeth clenched, sliding the word toward Chad.
He tilts his head, pupils flickering in the torchlight. “Esme,” he breathes back.
My throat tightens. It has to be her.
