Page 3 of Hex and the Dragon (Mistwhispher Falls Romances #4)

THREE

IVY

D awn broke gray and muted over Mistwhisper Falls, filtered through a layer of fog that seemed thicker than usual.

Ivy arrived at the library before sunrise, her breath visible in the crisp air as she unlocked the front door with hands that trembled only slightly.

She'd barely slept, her dreams filled with whispered promises and glimpses of vast libraries that contained every secret the world had ever hidden.

The Chronicle waited for her on her desk exactly where they'd left it, its scaled cover gleaming with inner light despite the early hour.

Ivy approached it cautiously, noting how the presence grew stronger with proximity.

The fragment was patient, she realized. It didn't need to rush or pressure. Time was on its side.

"You're early." Dorian's voice came from the archive room doorway, rough with exhaustion but alert.

He looked like he'd slept about as well as she had, his dark hair disheveled and shadows under his amber eyes.

But he was here, which meant the pull of their bond was strong enough to override any desire he might have had to stay away.

"Couldn't sleep," Ivy admitted, settling into her desk chair and pulling on her protective gloves. "The whispers were too loud."

"Same." Dorian moved into the room with that predatory grace she was beginning to recognize, claiming the chair beside her desk. "What did it show you?"

"Knowledge," she said simply. "Every answer I've ever wanted, every mystery solved. What about you?"

His jaw tightened. "Control. Perfect mastery over my dragon, the ability to protect without destroying." He gestured toward the Chronicle. "I'm betting those visions weren't random."

"Nothing about this is random," Ivy agreed, opening the Chronicle to its first page. The parchment was no longer blank—text had appeared overnight in flowing script that seemed to shift between languages as she watched. "It's studying us. Learning what motivates us."

The text on the first page was written in what looked like ancient draconic, the symbols flowing across the parchment like living fire. Ivy had studied enough magical languages to recognize the script, but reading it was another matter entirely.

"Can you translate this?" she asked Dorian, angling the book so he could see the page clearly.

His eyes fixated on the text, and she watched understanding dawn across his features.

"It's a genealogy," he said slowly. "Dragon bloodlines stretching back thousands of years.

" He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against hers as he traced one particular line with his finger.

"This one here... Drakmor the Eternal. Guardian of the Western Reaches, Keeper of the Sacred Flames. "

"Drakmor," Ivy repeated, making careful notes in her research journal. "The name the Chronicle mentioned yesterday?"

"More than mentioned," Dorian said grimly. "According to this, Drakmor was the most powerful dragon guardian in recorded history. He bound himself to a scholar—a human who helped him create protection rituals for entire kingdoms."

The Chronicle's pages turned of their own accord, revealing an illustration that made Ivy's breath catch.

The artwork was impossibly detailed, showing a massive dragon with scales that shifted from gold to deep crimson, his wings spread wide over a medieval city.

At his feet stood a woman in flowing robes, her hands raised as she wove magic into the air around them.

"They worked together," Ivy observed, studying the careful way the artist had positioned the figures. "True partnership, not subjugation."

"Until something went wrong," Dorian said quietly. The next page showed the same pair, but now shadow-tendrils wrapped around both figures, and the dragon's eyes had changed from intelligent gold to empty, hungry black.

Text appeared beneath the illustration in script that both of them could read:

Drakmor the Eternal became Drakmor the Consumed when he accepted power beyond his understanding.

His scholar-love tried to save him, binding his corrupted consciousness into this Chronicle before the darkness could spread.

But consciousness cannot be destroyed, only contained.

And containers, given time and patience, can be opened from within.

"The Chronicle isn't just containing Drakmor's consciousness," Ivy said with growing understanding. "It is Drakmor. Or what's left of him after centuries of corruption."

"And now he wants out," Dorian finished. "Using us as the keys to his prison."

The pages turned again, revealing text that made the temperature in the room seem to drop several degrees:

I offer no mere escape, children of magic.

I offer elevation. Transformation. The chance to remake this flawed reality into something worthy of the power required to sustain it.

Your world is broken—filled with unnecessary suffering, chaotic emotions, the wasteful conflict of individual desires. I can fix that.

"Fix it how?" Ivy asked aloud, her scholarly curiosity overriding her caution.

The Chronicle's response was immediate, showing them visions that unfolded like waking dreams. Ivy saw Mistwhisper Falls transformed into a perfect paradise where every building was architecturally flawless, where the streets were clean and orderly, where every resident moved with calm contentment.

There was no conflict, no pain, no uncertainty—just peaceful, beautiful perfection.

"It's stunning," she whispered, unable to deny the appeal of what she was seeing.

"It's a lie," Dorian said firmly, though she could sense his uncertainty. "Perfect worlds don't exist. They can't exist, not while people have free will."

Free will is the source of all suffering, the Chronicle responded.

Remove the chaos of individual choice, and you eliminate war, betrayal, heartbreak, loss.

I offer a world where every dragon is revered as a protector, where every scholar's quest for knowledge is supported and celebrated.

Where power serves wisdom instead of destroying it.

The visions shifted, showing Dorian in his dragon form soaring over the transformed town, children pointing up at him with wonder instead of fear.

Ivy saw herself in a vast library, surrounded by grateful students as she shared knowledge that could heal diseases, prevent disasters, solve every problem that had ever plagued their community.

"That could be real," Ivy said softly, her resistance wavering as the Chronicle showed her more visions of the good they could do together.

"At what cost?" Dorian demanded, though his own voice lacked conviction. "What happens to the people who don't fit into this perfect world?"

The Chronicle's pages rustled:

There will be no one who doesn't fit. Individual consciousness is merely a stage of development, like childhood before maturity. I offer the chance to grow beyond the limitations of singular perspective, to become part of something greater and more beautiful than any one mind could conceive.

Before either of them could respond to that chilling promise, the library's front door chimed urgently. Heavy footsteps approached the archive room, and Cade Halloway appeared in the doorway with his usual direct intensity. The wolf shifter's dark hair was windswept and his expression grim.

"We've got problems," he said without preamble. "The protective wards around the residential district started failing about an hour ago. Lyra's working to reinforce them, but whatever's causing the deterioration is spreading fast."

Ivy understood, coldness creeping to her spine. "It's the Chronicle. The longer it remains active, the more it weakens the town's magical defenses."

"Then we need to move fast," Cade said. "Leo's coordinating evacuations for the most vulnerable families, but if those wards collapse completely..."

"The fragment will have unrestricted access to everyone in town," Dorian finished grimly. "How long do we have?"

"Hours, maybe less." Cade's expression darkened. "Lyra needs your help, both of you. Her chaos magic can reinforce the failing wards, but she needs someone who understands the underlying magical theory."

"And someone with enough raw power to anchor the working," Ivy added, looking at Dorian. "Dragon fire is one of the most stable magical forces known."

The pages of the Chronicle’s turned, showing text that pulsed with smug satisfaction:

How convenient that your community's crisis requires you to work together. Almost as if such cooperation serves purposes beyond the immediate emergency.

"It's manipulating the situation," Ivy realized. "Creating problems that force us into closer partnership."

"Probably," Dorian agreed, standing from his chair with fluid grace. "But that doesn't change the fact that people need help." He looked down at her, his amber eyes intense. "Are you coming?"

The question carried more weight than just the immediate crisis, and Ivy found herself studying his face as she considered her answer.

Working together would strengthen their bond, give the Chronicle more opportunities to influence them both.

But it would also give them the chance to understand each other better, to build the kind of trust that might allow them to resist the fragment's seductive promises.

"Yes," she said, closing the Chronicle carefully and securing it in her desk drawer. "But we take breaks every hour. And if either of us starts showing signs of excessive influence..."

"We pull back," Dorian agreed. "No matter what's at stake."

Cade led them through the fog-shrouded streets of Mistwhisper Falls, past houses where protective charms flickered weakly on porches and residents peered nervously from behind curtained windows.

The residential district was centered around a small park where ancient oak trees provided natural anchor points for the town's defensive magic.