Page 71 of Darkbirch Academy

I can’t argue that this was an unusually resource-intensive extraction. If I’m honest with myself, I’mcertainthis many agents wouldn’t have been deployed for me if I were not suddenly… more valuable—my ancient bloodline be damned.

I flex my fingers, watching shadows dance between them effortlessly. The power coursing through my veins feels different from anything I’ve ever known—darker, moreprimal, yet strangely harmonious with my darkblood essence. What if Dayn wasn’t entirely wrong? What if this transformation was exactly what my grandmother intended?

The thought should disturb me more than it does. Being manipulated, used as a pawn in some greater scheme—it’s everything I’ve fought against at Heathborne. And yet...

I summon a tendril of shadow to my palm, watching it coil and twist with perfect responsiveness. The sensation is exhilarating, like discovering a limb I never knew I had. I can feel every shadow below us, sense the darkness between stars above. My awareness extends outward in all directions, and I feel as if I could map the world, in ways I never imagined possible.

Is this really so terrible? This power thrumming through me feels like liberation. Like potential. Like I couldreshapethe world if I wanted to.

“You’re different,” Isander observes, his voice carrying over the rush of wind. “Something in you has changed.”

I don’t answer, too caught in the intoxicating rush of energy surging through my system. I feel invincible, unstoppable, like I could take on Heathborne’s entire army single-handedly and emerge victorious. Is this what Dayn feels all the time? No wonder he carries himself with such arrogance.

A deafening crack splits the night, so powerful it reverberates through my bones. Isander falters mid-flight, his wings missing a beat as we both turn toward the sound.

Below us, Heathborne’s north-east wing is splitting apart, stone walls crumbling as something massive forces its way through from within. The castle’s architecture groans and gives way, centuries-old masonry collapsing like paper as an enormous form emerges from the rubble.

First comes a massive clawed hand, obsidian scales gleaming like polished onyx in the moonlight, each talon at least five feet. Then a serpentine neck, powerful and sinuous, supporting a head that could swallow a carriage whole. Wings unfurl next, vast membranes that blot out the stars as they spread to their full, impossible span.

Isander gasps, his arms tightening around me as he hovers in place, transfixed by the sight below.

The dragon shakes debris from its scales, golden flecks shimmering across its massive obsidian body, its eyes burning with ancient intelligence as it surveys the destruction around it. The beast turns its massive head skyward, nostrils flaring as it draws in the night air. Those eyes—molten gold with vertical pupils—lock onto us with terrifying precision.

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“Isander,” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from the creature below, “we need to move. Now!”

But Isander remains frozen, his wings beating mechanically to keep us aloft while his body tenses with primal fear.

“Fly, Isander!”

Too late. The dragon’s massive wings snap downward in a powerful stroke, propelling its enormous body skyward with impossible speed. The air displaces violently around it, creating a shockwave that nearly tears us from the sky. Isander curses, banking sharply to avoid the beast’s initial lunge.

The dragon’s massive form cuts through the air, each powerful wing beat closing the distance between us. Isander swerves frantically, his movements growing increasingly erratic as primal terror overwhelms his training.

“We can’t outfly it!” he shouts, his voice cracking. “Nothing outruns a dragon!”

I summon shadows to my fingertips, ready to defend us, but deep down I know it’s futile. The gap between our power and the dragon’s is like comparing a candle to a forest fire.

Isander attempts a desperate dive, hoping to use the castle’s towers as cover. The dragon anticipates the move, its massive body curving through the air with impossible agility. A gleaming talon extends with surgical precision as the beast sweeps past us.

There’s a sickening sound—halfway between a tear and a snap—as the dragon’s claw slices through the delicate membrane of Isander’s left wing. His scream pierces the night as our trajectory instantly destabilizes.

We spin wildly, Isander’s remaining wing beating frantically against the sudden imbalance. His arms, once secure around my waist, begin to slip as he fights for control.

In the same fluid motion that crippled Isander, the dragon’s massive foreclaw wraps around my torso. I’m torn from Isander’s grasp with such swift precision that I barely register the transition.

“ESME!” Isander’s scream fades as he plummets toward the ground below.

The dragon’s grip is surprisingly gentle—firm enough to prevent escape but careful not to crush me. I struggle anyway, darkness coiling around my hands as I prepare to strike.

“Sorry, but I couldn’t let that bat fly off with what’s mine.”

The voice resonates directly in my mind, deep and rich with a resonant quality that vibrates through my very bones. Dayn’s voice, yet transformed—ancient and powerful, layered with harmonics no human throat could produce.

Fury explodes through me like wildfire. “What’s YOURS?” I snarl, shadows erupting from my skin in violentspikes. They batter uselessly against his obsidian scales. “Put me down RIGHT NOW!”

“After all the trouble I went through to come get you? I think not.”

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