Page 26

T he maintenance shaft behind Heathborne’s north tower wasn’t designed for comfort.

I squeeze through the narrow opening, scraping my shoulder against rough stone as I follow Dayn into darkness.

The acidic smell of old moisture and something like oxidized metal fills my nostrils as we descend.

According to Dayn, these tunnels predate Heathborne itself—remnants of an older structure that once stood here, built directly over the convergence of seven powerful ley lines.

The perfect place to tap ancient power, and the perfect place to die if we make one wrong step.

We are here for the fourth, and I hope final, ingredient that requires collection.

“Watch your footing,” Dayn warns, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “The structural integrity diminishes the deeper we go.”

“Reassuring,” I mutter, testing each stone before committing my weight. My small light spell illuminates only a few feet ahead, revealing uneven floors and walls that seem to sweat with moisture. “How much farther to this convergence point?”

“Three levels down, then east through the old sanctum chambers.” He moves with inhuman confidence in the near-dark, his body radiating just enough heat to create a subtle halo in the cold, damp air. “The water source sits at the precise center where all seven ley lines intersect.”

I follow closely, careful not to lose sight of him in the twisting passages.

The walls around us change as we descend, transitioning from rough-hewn stone to more deliberate architecture.

Ancient runes appear, carved into the walls at regular intervals—not clearblood symbols, but something older.

They pulse faintly as we pass, responding to our presence.

“These markings,” I say, gesturing to a particularly intricate set. “They’re not darkblood or clearblood.”

“Because they predate the schism,” Dayn replies without turning. “From when magic was simply magic, before your kind and the clearbloods divided it into opposing philosophies.”

“My kind didn’t divide anything,” I shoot back. “Clearbloods hunted us because they feared our connection to death.”

Dayn makes a noncommittal sound and continues forward.

The passage widens into what was once a ceremonial antechamber.

Crumbling pillars support a ceiling carved with a celestial map—stars and constellations positioned as they would have appeared centuries ago.

Water trickles down one wall, collecting in a shallow basin before disappearing through a crack in the floor.

“The first sign of the convergence,” Dayn says, nodding toward the water. “The ley lines’ energy pulls groundwater toward the center. The closer we get, the more apparent the flow becomes.”

I step carefully around the basin, noting how the water seems to shimmer with faint blue luminescence. “Why exactly do we need this water for your ritual?”

“The binding spell that constrains me operates on fundamental magical principles,” he explains, leading us through an arched doorway on the far side of the chamber.

“To break it requires elements that embody those same principles. The convergence water represents pure magical potential—neither darkblood nor clearblood, but the raw source from which both traditions draw.”

The next passage slopes downward steeply, with crude steps carved into the floor. The runes along these walls glow brighter, pulsing with increasingly visible energy. The air feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

“The clearbloods have no idea what’s beneath their precious academy, do they?” I ask, feeling the surge of raw magic against my skin even through the suppressing effect of my silver tablet.

Dayn’s laugh is short and cold. “They built here deliberately, to control the convergence. But over generations, I suspect most forgot what they were guarding and why.” He glances back at me, eyes reflecting my light spell.

“Institutional memory is surprisingly fragile. Something your coven understands well.”

I want to ask what he means by that, but the sudden intensification of the runes’ glow distracts me. They’re pulsing faster now, their light casting animated shadows across Dayn’s features .

“Something’s wrong,” I say, instinctively reaching for my knife. “The runes shouldn’t be?—”

“Down!” Dayn shouts, spinning toward me.

I drop instinctively as a blast of pure energy erupts from the wall beside me, scorching the air where I stood a heartbeat earlier. The tunnel fills with blinding light and the smell of ozone.

Before I can react, Dayn lunges forward, grabbing my wrist with bruising force. He yanks me forward as another energy blast erupts behind us, this one powerful enough to crack the stone floor. We run now, no longer concerned with stealth as the entire passage system seems to awaken around us.

“Defensive system,” Dayn calls out between breaths. “Triggered by prolonged presence near the runes.”

Another blast strikes the ceiling ahead, raining stone fragments down. Dayn swerves, pulling me through a side passage I hadn’t even noticed. His grip on my wrist burns, but I can’t pull away without risking separation in the increasingly chaotic tunnel system.

We emerge into a larger chamber just as the most powerful blast yet strikes. The shock wave throws us both forward. I crash hard against Dayn’s back, and we tumble together onto the stone floor as the passage behind us partially collapses.

And that’s when it happens.

The moment his skin connects with mine—his hand still gripping my wrist, my body pressed against his—something like electricity arcs between us.

But it’s not pain I feel. It’s awareness.

Sudden, overwhelming awareness of Dayn—not just his physical presence but something deeper, more fundamental.

I feel the ancient fire at his core, the weight of centuries pressing on him, the constant strain of maintaining human form around something vast and inherently different from humanity.

From his sudden stillness and the flaring gold of his eyes, I know he’s experiencing something similar—a flash of access to my essence, my connection to death and ancestors, the magic that flows through Salem bloodlines.

We break apart almost violently, scrambling away from each other. My heart pounds as if I’ve run miles, and my skin tingles where he touched me.

“What the hell was that?” I demand, my voice unsteady.

Dayn stands slowly, brushing dust from his clothes with an outward calm betrayed by the lingering gold in his eyes. “An unexpected complication... likely triggered by the electric atmosphere.”

“Don’t evade,” I snap, keeping my distance. “That was some kind of magical connection. I felt—” I stop, unwilling to articulate exactly what I felt. “Explain. Now.”

He studies me for a long moment, visibly deciding how much to reveal. “Dragon magic and darkblood magic have certain... compatibilities that neither side cares to acknowledge.”

“Bullshit.” The word echoes in the cavernous space. “Pure darkblood magic connects to ancestors and death. Dragon magic is about fire and transformation. They’re fundamentally different.”

“Are they?” Dayn counters. “Both draw power from life force—you from the preserved essence of your ancestors, dragons from our own internal flame. Both manipulate energy that clearbloods can only access indirectly through structured spells and rituals. ”

I shake my head, unwilling to accept this connection. “Even if that were true, it doesn’t explain what just happened when you touched me.”

Dayn sighs, a sound like steam escaping. “During the ancient wars, before the clearblood-darkblood schism, certain darkblood families discovered they could form magical bonds with dragons—connections that amplified both sides’ abilities.”

The implications hit me like another blast wave. “You’re saying darkbloods and dragons were allies?”

“Initially.” His expression darkens. “Until your ancestors discovered they could use those bonds to control dragons. To drain our power.”

“That’s not—” I begin, but uncertainty stops me. My knowledge of that ancient history is fragmented at best. The Purification Crusades destroyed so many of our historical records.

“Your coven wouldn’t preserve that particular history,” Dayn says, reading my hesitation. “The Salem line was especially adept at forming these bonds. It’s why your family rose to prominence among darkbloods.”

Anger flares in me, hot and defensive. “If that were true, dragons wouldn’t be nearly extinct while darkbloods are hunted to the edge of survival. You’re twisting history to suit yourself.”

“Am I?” His voice sharpens. “Who do you think taught clearbloods to fear darkblood magic? Who showed them the techniques to suppress your powers? Dragons survived your ancestors’ betrayal, Salem. We just chose a different path than outright war. ”

The accusation lands like a physical blow. “You’re saying dragons helped clearbloods hunt us?”

“I’m saying both our kinds made choices in an ancient conflict that neither fully remembers.” Dayn steps closer, his heat intensifying. “The irony that we now find ourselves requiring each other’s help would not be lost on our ancestors.”

I back away, mind racing with implications.

If he’s right—if dragons helped develop the techniques that clearbloods use against my kind—then our current alliance is built on centuries of betrayal.

Yet I can’t deny the flash of connection I felt when we touched, a resonance that felt ancient and somehow right despite everything logical telling me to run.

“We need to keep moving,” Dayn says, breaking the tense silence. “The convergence point is just ahead, and that collapse will likely attract attention.”

I follow at a careful distance, hyperaware of his movement, his heat, the space between us that seems charged with new significance.

The passage widens further, opening into a perfectly circular chamber.

Unlike the rough construction of the tunnels, this room was crafted with precision—a perfect dome with a small pool at its center, fed by water that seems to flow upward from the floor rather than down from above.

The water glows with shifting colors—blues, purples, occasionally flashes of gold—and gives off no reflection. It’s as if the pool contains liquid light rather than water.

“The convergence.” Dayn’s voice holds genuine reverence. “Seven ley lines meeting at a single point, creating one of the most powerful magical nexuses in existence.”

I approach the edge of the pool cautiously. The energy here is palpable, pressing against my skin like gentle hands. I can feel the raw power pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

“This is why Heathborne was built here,” I realize aloud. “Not to educate young clearbloods, but to control this power source.”

“Finally, something we agree on.” Dayn produces a crystal vial from his pocket. “We need only a small amount. Too much, and the energy density could shatter the container—or us.”

He kneels at the pool’s edge, carefully dipping the vial into the glowing liquid. The water flows into the container of its own accord, as if eager to be collected. When the vial is half-full, Dayn withdraws it and seals it with a stopper inscribed with stabilizing runes.

“Four components gathered,” he says, tucking the vial away. “Now we need only?—”

He freezes, head tilting slightly. I hear it a moment later—footsteps, methodical and measured, approaching from a connecting passage. The particular rhythm is unmistakable.

“Mazrov. Again,” I whisper.

Dayn’s eyes scan the chamber before settling on a narrow alcove carved into the wall—barely large enough for one person, let alone two. Without discussion, he pulls me into it.

One of his arms wraps around my waist, holding me still. The memory of our earlier magical connection makes this forced proximity electric with tension. I’m acutely aware of every point of contact between us, wondering if another flash of connection will occur—half fearing it, half curious.

The footsteps grow louder. From our hiding place, I can see the entrance to the chamber as Mazrov emerges. His eyes sweep the room methodically, and I hold my breath. Dayn’s arm tightens fractionally around me, whether in warning or preparation for action, I can’t tell.

Mazrov approaches the convergence pool, studying it with clinical detachment. He kneels where Dayn had been moments before, examining the ground, then reaches into the water. Unlike the welcoming flow we witnessed, the liquid seems to recoil from his touch.

“Contamination detected,” he says aloud, his voice echoing in the chamber. “Cross-reference with known breaches.”

He’s not speaking to us or to himself, I realize. He’s reporting to someone—or something.

Dayn remains perfectly still behind me, but I can feel the tension coiling in him, the subtle increase in his body temperature as the dragon responds to threat.

His breath ghosts warm against my ear, and despite everything—the danger, the revelations, the centuries of conflict between our kinds—I can’t help but lean back into him for a moment, seeking the stability of his presence.

“Resuming patrol route,” Mazrov announces to his unseen audience before turning and exiting the chamber through a different passage than the one we entered through.

We remain frozen in our hiding place long after his footsteps fade, neither of us quite willing to break the forced intimacy of our position. When Dayn finally speaks, his lips are so close to my ear that I feel the words as much as hear them.

“Now we know why the defenses activated,” he murmurs. “Mazrov wasn’t here by coincidence. He’s monitoring the convergence.”

I turn slightly, finding myself face-to-face with him in the narrow alcove. This close, I can see flecks of gold in his amber eyes, the subtle inhuman texture of his skin. “Monitoring for what?”

His gaze holds mine, filled with ancient knowledge and something that might be regret.

“For exactly what we just did. He’s monitoring for intruders like us—or darkbloods—accessing Heathborne’s most revered resource…

The water we took isn’t just a component for my freedom.

It’s a key to something much older—something both our kinds once fought to control. Raw power.”

In this moment of fragile truth, pressed together in darkness with centuries of conflict between us, I’m struck by the weight of choices I never made but must now answer for. Salem and dragon. Darkblood and fire. Ancient allies turned bitter enemies, now forced together by circumstance.