Page 31 of Darkbirch Academy

“I know where it is.” I fold the map carefully and slip it into my pocket.

He pauses, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to look away. “I know you resent needing my help, Esme. But remember—I need yours equally. Neither of us survives this alone.”

With that uncomfortable truth hanging between us, he turns and disappears into the shadows of the library, leaving me alone with ancient books and the weight of our unlikely alliance.

I count to three hundred in my head before following, moving silently through the darkened aisles toward the exit, the map of Heathborne’s underground tunnels a tangible reminder of what comes next—a dangerous descent into the literal and figurative foundations of everything I’m fighting against.

18

The eastern service stairwell smells of mildew and forgotten things. I descend the narrow steps, one hand trailing along the damp stone wall, the other resting on the knife concealed at my hip. Twenty-three steps down, the ambient magical hum of Heathborne changes pitch, becoming deeper, more primal. Thirty-seven steps down, and the temperature drops noticeably, my breath forming small clouds in the air. Fifty-two steps, and I’ve left the academic pretensions of the institute behind. Down here, beneath layers of stone and enchantment, Heathborne reveals its true nature: a fortress built on secrets, power, and blood.

Dayn waits in the shadows at the bottom, his silhouette barely distinguishable from the darkness except for the amber burn of his eyes. They seem brighter down here, as though feeding off the ancient magic that pulses through the foundation stones.

“You’re late,” he says, not bothering to lower his voice.The thick walls swallow sound, making even whispers feel isolated.

“I was ensuring we weren’t followed.” A partial truth. I also needed those extra minutes to center myself, to firmly reestablish the mental barriers between myself and this asshole.

He doesn’t challenge my explanation, instead turning to face the narrow archway that leads deeper into the underground labyrinth. Enchanted sconces flicker to life as we approach, casting weak, wavering light that somehow makes the darkness beyond them more oppressive rather than less.

I take the map out of my pocket and hand it to him.

“It shows three possible routes to the central chamber,” Dayn says, unfurling the parchment between us. “The western path is shortest but heavily warded. The northern route is longer but designed for supply transport—wider passages, fewer defensive measures.”

I study the faded lines of the map, noting details he hasn’t mentioned. “And the eastern path isn’t marked at all beyond this first junction. Why?”

“Perhaps because it was too difficult to map.” His tone is matter-of-fact, academic. “The eastern tunnels lead directly beneath the original foundation stones, where the dimensional convergence is strongest.”

“Which means that’s exactly where we need to go.” I fold the map decisively. “The Relic of Severance would be kept where the veil between dimensions is thinnest.”

Dayn’s expression shifts subtly—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant respect. “Correct. Though I’m curious how a Salem assassin developed such insight into interdimensional magic.”

“We’re not all just knives in the dark, Professor.” I movepast him toward the eastern tunnel entrance, deliberately taking the lead. “Some of us actually study what we fight against.”

The passage narrows almost immediately, the ceiling dropping so low that Dayn has to stoop slightly to avoid scraping his head on the rough stone. The walls glisten with moisture, and occasional symbols—faded with age but still imbued with lingering power—flicker as we pass. I recognize some from my Darkbirch training: warning markers, territorial claims, directional indicators. Others are older, their meanings lost even to darkblood scholars.

We walk in tense silence for several minutes, the only sounds our footsteps and the occasional drip of water from unseen crevices. The air grows increasingly thick with magical residue, making it harder to breathe normally. I find myself taking shallow breaths, as much to limit my exposure to whatever enchantments linger here as to manage the stale, ancient air.

Dayn pauses suddenly, and I turn to see him holding up one hand. “Wait.”

I stop, more out of tactical sense than obedience. “What?”

Instead of answering, he walks forward a few steps, then kneels, examining the floor several paces ahead of us. His hand hovers over a seemingly ordinary section of stone, fingers splayed as though feeling for something invisible.

“Pressure trigger,” he finally says. “Connected to a ward line that runs through this entire section.”

I scan the passage, noting the subtle differences in the stone’s coloration where the floor meets the wall. “A clearblood defense system? Or something older?”

“Both.” He rises smoothly. “The original protections havebeen reinforced, adapted. Tripping this would activate both ancient and modern countermeasures.”

“Lovely.” I step closer, careful to avoid the trigger point he identified. “Can we disarm it?”

“Not without tools and time we don’t have.” He gestures to the narrow ledge along the left wall. “We’ll have to edge around it.”

The ledge is barely six inches wide, slick with moisture, and runs along a section of wall decorated with uncomfortably sharp decorative stonework. I assess it with practiced eyes, calculating risk versus necessity.

“After you, Professor.” I gesture mockingly. “Unless you’d prefer I go first?”

A flicker of something—irritation? amusement?—crosses his features. “Age before beauty? How conventional of you.”

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