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Draevyn

D raevyn watched in horror as Esmyra placed her hand within the fountain. He ran, reaching for her. The last thing he needed was for her to touch more of those symbols, but he was too late.

When the skin of her palm brushed the stone, he was thrust back by a violent force, his body thrown into a crumbling pillar. The flame he’d kept lit was extinguished.

Draevyn’s back ached as he pushed himself to his feet. His eyes widened. Esmyra’s midnight hair levitated around her as if she were beneath the surface of the sea, gently swaying in all directions.

He tried running to her again, his chest heaving as he realized she was unreachable. Her eyes were flared wide, radiating their familiar light, yet they were so pale they were almost silver, illuminating the space around them.

The cavern trembled.

“Esmyra!” Draevyn called, his voice echoing through the shuddering temple.

When no response came, he took a step closer, reaching out to her hesitantly. The rune pulsed beneath her fingers, a dim, rhythmic glow that synced with her breath. Her lips moved, whispering words he couldn’t hear. A chill crawled along his spine .

Water pooled atop her hand as it remained in the bowl, as if she was conjuring it when she had just told him moments ago she didn’t have the ability.

The ground beneath him continued to rumble. Loose stones tumbled down from the ceiling, clattering across the floor. He glanced back at Esmyra and found her expression remained serene, almost peaceful—completely unaware of the growing danger around her.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

A groan resonated from deep within the space, and his heart leapt in his throat. He turned, and before him, at the far end of the temple-like cavern, an archway revealed itself.

The arch shimmered, ancient carvings and symbols taking form, pulling themselves from the rock.

The rumbling grew louder, and a palpable sense of raw power emanated from the archway while Esmyra remained in her trance.

The solid wall trembled, dust and grit falling as cracks splintered across their surface.

What the fuck is happening?

This wasn’t like the door or arch she had opened before. He knew in his very bones this was different, and something ancient lay on the opposite side of that wall.

Did she have her powers back? Was the fountain she touched absorbing her power and draining her body dry? Would they be able to fight whatever was about to present itself to them? He didn’t know, and his pulse thrashed in his ears as his mind raced.

With a grinding groan, the splintering stone burst , sending rock and debris flying in all directions. On instinct, Draevyn leapt in front of her and threw up a wall of flame, protecting both him and Esmyra.

When the cavern went silent, Draevyn dropped his fiery shield. His intuition screamed for him to flee, yet he found himself rooted in place, feeling obligated to stay by her side.

As the dust settled, shapes emerged—first as shadows, then figures that moved with an unnerving grace. Draevyn’s breath caught in his throat as they came into view.

“Fucking Irah.” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes worked to track their movements, but there were too many of them. “Esmyra, if you can hear me, I need you to snap out of it.”

Nothing and no one answered him. She remained as she was—silver glowing eyes as her hair levitated, flowing around her in waves.

When he turned back toward the arch, he found himself face-to-face with several humanoid creatures of the depths. One of them aimed for Esmyra, pointing an enormous spear at her face.

Draevyn’s jaw locked, a liquid blaze igniting every vein in his body. “Touch her and you’ll fucking burn.”

He blinked, not having any idea where that came from. All he was certain of was that he meant every word.

Draevyn took a step up to the clan as he went to summon flame to his palms, but they were snuffed out before they had the chance to burn when a bolas latched around his wrists. The weapon was whipped at him from the side, barely catching his attention before he was too late to dodge it.

One of their attackers, a tall figure with intricate patterns painted across its chest and arms, stepped forward, the creature’s gaze locked on him.

It bared its sharp, pointed teeth and let out a guttural hiss, echoed by its companions.

Draevyn could see the intelligence in those eyes—a cold, calculating awareness that made his stomach twist.

The bolas, normally crafted with rope and stone, was forged from a seaweed so strong that Draevyn’s muscles strained against its strength as he worked to snap them in half. But what the weapon was bound by wasn’t what put the fear of all the gods in him.

He realized with sinking dread why his flames winked out when the bolas had latched.

It wasn’t made of mere stone.

It was velsinyte.