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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ISOLDE

The corridors of SilverGate are in chaos as I make my way toward Blackridge’s office.

The sigils heat up under my skin. They know where I’m going, probably what I was doing.

Everyone is drawn to the courtyard spectacle, the fight and the mythical creature flapping about all of a sudden.

The ancient stones beneath my feet hum with anticipation.

I know now that the entire academy is alive, waiting, watching.

Blackridge’s office sits at the end of the administrative wing, a space I’ve visited too many times already. The heavy oak door is locked, of course, but my blood sings at my approach. After drinking his blood, I have a connection to him, to his magic, and to his domain.

He has to know. He has to have accounted for this. So, yes, this screams ‘trap’, but it is also the only way I have to tap into SilverGate and make it work for me and my guys.

I press my palm against the wood, feeling the wards ripple in recognition. They’re complex protections, layered over centuries, but now they recognise something of Blackridge in me.

The lock clicks open.

I slip inside, closing the door silently behind me. Blackridge’s office looks unchanged. The massive desk, the bookshelves lined with ancient texts, and the peculiar absence of personal items create a space meant to intimidate, not reveal.

But now, with his blood in my veins and these sigils on my skin, I see it differently. The entire room is a disguise, a facade covering something far older and more powerful. The magic here runs deep, beating beneath the mundane appearance.

I’m drawn towards a particular section of the wall behind his desk, one that appears no different from the others at first glance.

As I get closer, I see differences. The stonework is older; the mortar between the blocks is darker with age, almost invisible unless you know to look for them.

There are tiny markings that match the sigils etched into my flesh.

I place my palm against the central stone, and my marks flare with silver light. The wall responds, ancient stone grinding against stone, as a hidden doorway slides open, revealing a narrow staircase that descends into darkness.

Cold air rushes up from below, carrying the scent of blood and ancient magic.

For a moment, I hesitate.

Whatever lies down there is the heart of Blackridge’s power in SilverGate. I’m walking directly into the lion’s den, alone.

A distant roar shakes the building. CJ’s dragon sounds furious. Part of me wishes I were there to see it, but I have to do this. They’re risking everything to give me this chance. I can’t waste it.

I step onto the staircase, and the hidden door slides closed behind me. Silver light illuminates the stone steps worn smooth by centuries of use. The descent is steep, the air growing colder with each step. How deep beneath SilverGate does this go?

The staircase spirals downward far longer than I expect. I must be well below the foundations now, perhaps even beneath the bedrock itself. The walls around me change as I descend, becoming older. Stonework gives way to ancient megaliths carved with symbols that I have no clue about.

Yet the sigils on my skin know them. With each step deeper, more knowledge rises to my mind.

Fragments of Blackridge’s blood memories surface in response to these ancient markings.

This place wasn’t built by humans, vampires, or any other supernatural creature that I know.

It existed long before SilverGate, before the magical communities as we know them.

Finally, the staircase ends at a massive doorway of some black stone. It stands twice my height, covered in intricate carvings that shine with barely contained power. In the middle is a depression shaped like a hand, surrounded by the same sigils.

This is it. Whatever lies beyond this door is what Blackridge has been protecting, or containing, all these years.

I press my hand into the depression, and the markings ignite with silver fire. The pain is immediate and intense, burning through my veins as the door draws power from me. I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out as the massive portal slowly swings inward.

The chamber beyond is vast, far larger than should be possible given its location, as if the space itself has been expanded through magical means.

The ceiling soars overhead, lost in shadow despite the silver-blue light that permeates the room.

The walls curve in a perfect circle, their surface covered in the same markings, though on a massive scale.

But the middle of the chamber draws my attention.

A circular platform of black stone rises from the floor, surrounded by channels carved into intricate patterns that spiral outward to the walls.

Within these channels flows a liquid that looks like quicksilver but moves with deliberate purpose, alive and aware.

Above the platform hovers a sphere of pure magical energy, neither quite solid nor quite gaseous, its surface rippling with colours I have no names for, in time with the markings.

“The nexus?” I whisper. “William said SilverGate was built over a magical nexus point. Is this it?”

The platform has five indentations arranged in a perfect pentagon around its edge. Each bears a small rune. Without conscious thought, I move towards one of these positions, drawn by a compulsion I can neither name nor resist.

As I step onto the platform, the liquid silver in the channels flows faster. The sphere’s colours change to a deep crimson that matches the moon above.

This must be how Blackridge controls SilverGate’s defences, its wards, and its connection to the magical world. If I can access this system and override his control, even temporarily, I can break whatever hold he has on me.

I place my hands on two of the indentations. They’re warm beneath my touch. Power flows between us in a circuit that grows stronger with each second.

The knowledge is overwhelming, centuries of magical architecture compressed into moments of pure understanding.

I see how the wards are failing under The Collectors’ assault, how the eastern boundary has already been breached.

I feel the chaos in the courtyard, the aggression from the students, the underlying fear of CJ in dragon form, and the determination of professors fighting to protect SilverGate.

I see CJ, magnificent in his draconic form, battling against forces that seem to multiply with each passing minute.

Suddenly, it burns with painful intensity; the flow of power reverses direction, and they’re drawing it into me.

Or rather, through me. I’m becoming a conduit, a channel for power that flows from the nexus into somewhere else. The pain increases as more energy courses through my body, and I cry out softly, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I try to pull my hands away from the indentations, but they’re locked in place by a power I can’t resist.

“It’s responding to you.”

Blackridge stands at the entrance, looking entirely unsurprised to find me accessing the heart of his academy. He steps forward unhurriedly, as if we have all the time in the world, as if a dragon isn’t tearing SilverGate apart above us.

“What is this place?” I demand, still struggling to free my hands. “What are you doing to me?”

“This,” he says, gesturing to the chamber around us, “is the true heart of SilverGate. A nexus point where multiple ley lines converge, creating a wellspring of raw magical energy unmatched in this realm.”

He approaches the platform, his black eyes reflecting the crimson light from the sphere above. “As for what I’m doing to you… nothing you haven’t invited with your own curiosity. The sigils recognised you when you entered. They’ve been waiting for someone like you for a very long time.”

“Someone like me,” I repeat, cold dread settling in my stomach. “A Sanguimonarch?”

“Not just any Sanguimonarch,” he corrects, stepping onto the platform opposite me. “You. The only creature in a very long and sordid history that can withstand my blood, better even. Thrive on it. Usually, it has the opposite effect.”

I gulp. What the fuck does that mean? He tested me to see if I would die?

He places his hands on two other indentations, completing the circuit. The liquid silver surges up the walls, the sigils burning with blinding intensity. “When you drank my blood, you became part of this system, to strengthen it.”

“Strengthen it?”

He nods.

“You want to bind me to this place. Make me part of the nexus.”

He frowns. “Not exactly. I need you to ease the burden slightly.”

“Burden?”

Despite myself, I’m wildly curious. He looks almost forlorn.

“I’m sure you can imagine an eternity of holding this up on my own is tiring.”

He locks gazes with me, but I don’t answer. I’m too busy processing what he’s saying.

“I’m not sure I understand,” I say after a while. “You are dying, or what?”

He snorts. “No, child. I cannot die. But I am growing tired of this existence. There are ripples in the other realms. This place, SilverGate, isn’t the only one of its kind.

There are academies across multiple realms that sit in this exact spot, places of extreme power that draw the most talented and magical creatures to it. ”

“You’re the guardian of this realm’s nexus. Have been for... how long?”

“Long enough to watch civilisations rise and fall. Long enough to see the same patterns repeat endlessly. The Collectors, Damadere, creatures like your dragon above, they’re drawn here because of what this place is.

They can sense the power, even if they don’t understand its true purpose.

I’ve not been the guardian, as you call it, but the defender. ”

Above us, another roar shakes the chamber. CJ sounds like he’s in serious trouble.

“Shit,” I mutter. “You aren’t the bad guy?”