Page 27

T he four components sit on Dayn’s desk like offerings to a forgotten demigod—moonfire essence glowing with ghostly blue light, elder blood, dark and viscous in its crystal vial, the pouch of ancestor ash that seems to pulse with my own heartbeat, and the convergence water shifting colors like a trapped aurora.

I keep my distance from them and Dayn, the memory of our magical connection still burning under my skin like a brand I never asked for.

His chambers feel smaller now, the walls closer, the air between us charged with unspoken complications.

“Four components,” Dayn says, arranging them in a precise diamond pattern. “Each representing a fundamental magical principle. And we have the Relic of Severance, safely stored in my bedroom. Now, there’s just one final element we need.”

I fold my arms. “What?”

His amber eyes lift to mine. “The fifth component,” he says, “is Mazrov himself. ”

I nod once in understanding. Of course. He was the one I came here for in the first place.

Dayn’s fingers trace the air above the moonfire essence, which pulses brighter in response. “He’s the living embodiment of the binding spell. A physical anchor with consciousness. The clearbloods call it an Enforcer—a combination of flesh, alchemical enhancement, and binding magic.”

“So, we need to...”

“Kill him.” Dayn says it simply, without malice. “Not just kill him—unbind him through the proper ritual. Death alone won’t suffice. His binding to me must be severed with the same principles that created it.”

I push away from the wall. “That’s why you need my death magic.”

“Precisely. Darkblood connection to death is uniquely suited to severing such bonds.”

“I assume you have a plan for getting him here?” I ask.

Dayn’s smile is cold and confident. “You’ll lure him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mazrov may be enhanced, but he follows human routines. Every evening, he visits the Heathborne Village’s tavern—The Broken Lantern. He drinks a glass or two of whiskey and returns to the academy by midnight.”

“And you expect me to what? Flutter my eyelashes and he’ll follow me back to your lair?” My voice drips with sarcasm.

“Something like that.” Dayn’s eyes assess me. “Surely your academy training included seduction techniques for infiltration? I’m certain you’ve been trained to adapt to any mission parameter. This is no different.”

“It’s entirely different,” I reply. “You want me to seduce a magically enhanced guard who could snap me in half, and somehow convince him to follow me back to the academy—where we’ll kill him in a ritual that, if discovered, would get me executed on the spot.”

“I’m still working on the details, but when you put it that way, it sounds rather exciting.” His tone remains maddeningly calm.

“It sounds like suicide.” I glare at him. “And if your brilliant plan fails, I’ll be the one caught red-handed while you maintain plausible deniability.”

“If you can suggest a better approach, I’m all ears.”

“Why not just grab him now? Ambush him during his patrol? Or set me up to ‘train’ under him, as you originally said you would?”

“Because—”

A sharp knock at the door silences us both.

Our eyes lock in instant understanding of the threat. That particular rhythm—three evenly spaced knocks followed by two quick ones—belongs to only one person at Heathborne.

Dayn moves with inhuman speed, dragging me toward a bookshelf on the far wall.

He presses a hidden catch, and the shelf slides silently inward, revealing a narrow space behind it.

Before I can react, he pushes me into the darkness and steps back, the shelf sliding closed until just a thin gap remains—enough for me to see into the room but not enough to be seen.

“One moment,” Dayn calls toward the door, his voice perfectly controlled.

He quickly sweeps the ritual components into a desk drawer, then adjusts his academic robes and smooths his expression into one of mild annoyance at the interruption. The temperature in the room seems to lower as he reins in his dragon nature.

When he opens the door, Mazrov stands in the threshold like a statue carved from midnight—his dark armor absorbing the light from the hallway torches, his unnaturally bright blue eyes scanning the room in mechanical sweeps.

“Professor Dayn,” Mazrov’s voice is flat, precise. “May I come in?”

“It’s rather early for official business, isn’t it?” Dayn makes no move to step aside.

“This won’t take long.” Mazrov doesn’t wait for further invitation, simply steps forward with such clear intent that Dayn has no choice but to move or make physical contact.

From my hiding place, I control my breathing, keeping it shallow and silent, inhaling the smell of ancient books. I can see part of the room through the small gap, enough to track Mazrov as he moves in a precise circuit, examining Dayn’s quarters.

“Is there a purpose to this inspection?” Dayn asks, his tone just short of insubordination.

Mazrov completes his circuit before answering. “There have been multiple security breaches in the past twelve hours. The moonfire greenhouse. The blood repository. Disturbances in the lower levels.”

“Interesting,” Dayn says, the picture of academic detachment. “And you’re here because...?”

“Your movements have been irregular since Monday.” Mazrov turns to face Dayn fully. “You’ve missed scheduled check-ins.”

I frown, wondering what Dayn has been doing since Monday: early preparation for this, spying on me ?

“I wasn’t aware that faculty members were subject to investigation if they miss a few check-ins.

” Dayn’s voice carries just enough edge to communicate displeasure without crossing into open defiance.

“My movements have been entirely supportive of my work, and I have had a large amount of class work to catch up on.”

“You are not standard faculty, Professor.” The emphasis Mazrov places on the title strips it of any respect. “Your continued presence at Heathborne is contingent on compliance with very specific terms.”

“Terms I have not violated.”

“That remains to be determined.” Mazrov moves toward the desk, his gloved hand hovering just above its surface. “Management has concerns about your loyalty.”

“My loyalty has never been in question.” Dayn’s posture shifts subtly—a predator preparing for possible conflict. “I’ve served Heathborne faithfully for decades.”

“Service without choice is not loyalty.”

“Do you have specific accusations to make?” Dayn asks, drawing Mazrov’s attention away from the desk where our ritual components are hidden.

“Not yet.” Mazrov’s blue eyes flash brighter for a moment. “But I will be watching you more closely.”

“As you wish.” Dayn’s voice turns dismissive. “If that’s all, I have classes to prepare for.”

Mazrov moves toward the door but stops at the threshold. Without turning, he says, “There’s a scent in this room that doesn’t belong.”

My heart stutters. Even with the silver tablet suppressing my magic, could he somehow detect my presence in a small, enclosed room ?

“I was testing student assignments today,” Dayn replies smoothly. “Several counteractions for blood rituals under controlled conditions. Perhaps that’s what you’re detecting.”

Mazrov remains motionless for several heartbeats, then nods once. “Report any unusual student activities directly to me. That is protocol.”

“Of course.”

After Mazrov departs, Dayn waits a full minute before approaching the bookshelf. When it slides open, I step out quickly, putting immediate distance between us.

“That was too close,” I say, keeping my voice low. “He can smell darkblood magic even through suppression tablets, at least in this small space.”

“Not surprising.” Dayn locks his chamber door. “Mazrov is improving every day, and he was specifically designed to detect magical signatures outside clearblood patterns. He’s a hunter at his core.”

“Why didn’t you seize him right then?” I demand. “He was right here, alone. We could have completed your ritual immediately.”

Dayn shakes his head. “And raised immediate alarms. Mazrov reports to management too regularly. His sudden disappearance would trigger lockdown protocols throughout Heathborne. We’d never complete the ritual before security forces discovered us.”

“Why did you originally offer to let me train under him?” I ask.

Dayn shrugs. “As I mentioned, it was an effective way to command your attention.”

I roll my eyes. “So instead you want me to lure him away during his free time. ”

“Precisely. When he’s in the village, his check-ins are reduced to once per night, at midnight. If we take him from the tavern, we’d have nearly four hours before anyone realizes he’s missing.”

I pace the room, weighing our options. As much as I hate to admit it, Dayn’s plan makes strategic sense. A controlled environment, extended timeframe, and minimal witnesses.

“What makes you think he’d follow me at all? If he’s so mechanically focused on duty? How do you even know he’ll be attracted to me?”

“I’ve detected he’s into women, so… you’ll do.

” I scowl at him as he continues, “The clearbloods may have enhanced him, but they couldn’t eliminate all weaknesses.

His tavern visits serve a purpose beyond routine—they’re designed to maintain the human elements of his psychology, preventing complete detachment.

During those hours, he’s significantly more susceptible to… certain influences.”

Meaning human desire. I suppress a shudder at the thought of getting close to this strange enforcer.

But it seems time to finally do what I came here for: deliver the bastard who injured my brother to the slaughter.