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“ I sander,” 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 violent spikes. 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.”

We’re rising higher now, the castle shrinking beneath us as powerful wings carry us into the cloud cover. I can see my team below, regrouping around what must be Isander’s fallen form. Some point upward, but they’re too far away to help.

“They’ll hunt you,” I threaten, still struggling against his grip. “Every darkblood coven will?—”

A sudden chill cuts through the night air, so intense that frost forms instantly on the dragon’s scales.

The temperature plummets with unnatural speed, the kind of bone-deep cold that can only mean one thing: spirits.

Many spirits. A shimmering silver mist materializes around us, coalescing into translucent figures that float impossibly in the night sky.

At their center, her silver-streaked braids unmistakable even in spectral form, stands my grandmother.

“Release her, dragon.” My grandmother’s voice echoes with power, amplified by the chorus of spirits surrounding her. The spirits of Darkbirch Coven—a graveyard of darkblood practitioners, their forms translucent but unmistakable in their ceremonial robes.

Dayn’s throat emits a low growl, a sound that reverberates through the night sky like the beginnings of thunder. His mental voice crashes through my mind, though he addresses my grandmother.

“Esther Salem, a pleasure to meet. But perhaps you should give me one reason why I should listen to you, an apologist for Galia?”

I frown, my fury momentarily frozen by confusion.

Apologist for Galia? Galia… She was my great, great grandmother.

Known to be a fearsome defender of her coven…

and if my memory of our family tree serves correctly, died in combat during the Blood Wars, her spirit never located.

The Blood Wars, the centuries’ old battle between darkbloods and dragons, which supposedly drove the latter to extinction.

“Come now,” my grandmother replies, her voice steely. “You’re not still fretting over old quarrels, are you? Helena would disapprove. Release our child.”

My frown deepens. Helena? She was Galia’s mother. My great, great, great grandmother. I know little about her except that she lived in a coven to the south.

Something about the cadence of Dayn’s voice shifts at the mention of her name and he lets out a sharp, resentful laugh. “As if you know Helena. I doubt you’ve even studied her history.”

“I have, more than you think,” my grandmother responds coolly. Her spectral form drifts closer, her weathered features set in fierce determination.

“Then you wouldn’t utter her name in the same breath as Galia’s,” Dayn replies, his voice bordering dangerously on a growl.

The conversation deeply confuses me. But clearly this dragon is up in my family’s business way more than I thought.

The spirits begin to move in unison, forming a perfect circle around us.

Their joined hands glow with ethereal light as they begin an incantation—words that seem to bend the very fabric of reality as they’re spoken.

The air thickens, coalescing into a translucent dome that begins to close around us.

Rage pulses from Dayn’s massive form, his scales heating until they glow like embers against the night sky. I feel his grip tighten fractionally around my torso.

The spectral shield continues to form, the dome shrinking inward with each syllable of the spirits’ chant. Dayn’s wings beat powerfully against it, but the barrier holds, forcing him to hover in place.

“What are you doing?” I demand of my grandmother, my voice cracking with frustration and fear.

Her ghostly eyes never leave the dragon. “Protecting you, child. As I have always done. Unfortunately, our ancestors failed to finish what they started.”

The spectral shield contracts further, the pressure building as two ancient powers clash. I can feel Dayn’s rage building, his massive body tensing for a more violent response.

The spirits’ chant rises to a crescendo, their spectral forms pulsing with ancient power. My grandmother’s voice cuts through the ethereal chorus, her words carrying the weight of centuries.

“By the blood of Salem, by the covenant of Darkbirch, we bind you, dragon!”

The dome constricts violently, pressing against Dayn’s massive form. His scales begin to smoke where the spectral energy touches them, the magic of steadfast darkblood spirits working to contain him.

“Enough games,” Dayn’s mental voice thunders through my mind. His massive jaws part, and a sound emerges that defies description—not quite a roar, not quite a word, but something more primal. The sound vibrates at a frequency that seems to shatter reality itself.

The spectral barrier ripples, its perfect form distorting as if struck by an invisible force. My grandmother’s face contorts with surprise and strain as she and the other spirits fight to maintain their containment.

“Hold!” she commands, her voice echoing across the night sky. “He cannot break the combined will of Darkbirch!”

Dayn’s massive head rears back, golden eyes blazing with fury. “Cannot?” His mental voice drips with disdain. “Your coven’s arrogance hasn’t changed in centuries.”

His entire body suddenly ignites with golden fire—not normal flame, but something more fundamental, as if the very essence of his being has transformed into pure energy. The fire spreads outward in concentric waves, each pulse more powerful than the last.

The spirits waver, their formation breaking as the golden energy tears through their spectral barrier. I hear cries of pain—sounds I didn’t think spirits could make—as their forms begin to dissipate under the onslaught.

“Impossible,” my grandmother gasps, her own form flickering as the golden fire washes over her. “No dragon has this?—”

“You underestimate the power of your own blood,” Dayn’s voice resonates, low and dark, each word punctuated by another pulse of energy.

The spectral dome shatters completely, fragments of ethereal light scattering across the night sky like broken glass. The spirits of Darkbirch Coven recoil, their forms destabilizing as they struggle to maintain cohesion.

My grandmother’s eyes lock with mine one final time, her expression a mixture of fury and desperation. “Esme!” Her voice is fading, growing distant as her form begins to dissipate. “Remember what I?—”

Her words cut off as a final wave of golden energy erupts from Dayn’s form, so powerful it temporarily blinds me. When my vision clears, the spirits are gone, scattered to the winds by the sheer force of his power.

Before I can process what’s happened, Dayn’s wings snap downward in a powerful stroke.

The world around us blurs, colors smearing together like wet paint.

I feel a sensation of compression, as if the very fabric of space is folding around us.

I have a horrifying, gut-wrenching sense of being unmade, molecule by molecule.

The world disappears in a violent explosion of golden light.

Then, darkness. Complete and absolute.