Page 68 of Progeny of the Cursed Egg (Dragonis Academy, Year 3)
Forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, I turn and walk away from my mates, each step heavier than the last. The sound of my boots on the floor marking my departure like a funeral dirge.
The weight of their gazes on my back is almost physical, a pressure between my shoulder blades.
I can only hope I live to see them again.
The thought sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the room.
The wooden door handle is cool under my palm as I pull it open, the hinges groaning softly, as if protesting my departure.
Fin is waiting for me downstairs several minutes early, his tall form silhouetted against the weak afternoon light filtering through the clouded windows.
His leather armor creaks softly as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, betraying his nervousness despite his composed expression.
I lightly touch his elbow, feeling the tension in his muscles beneath my fingertips, and walk past him, heading towards Malivore.
The scent of weapon oil and metal clings to him, mingling with the faint aroma of fear that all prey animals recognize instinctively.
I want to talk to him, to get to know him in what little time he may have left, my throat tight with unspoken words.
But something deep down stops me, a primal instinct that whispers caution.
He knows what may happen to him, and he’s at peace with it.
I can see it in the resolute set of his jaw, the calm acceptance in his eyes that looks too old for his face.
As we pass the Arcanum campus, the gravel crunching beneath our boots in a rhythmic cadence.
I hear the distant call of a crow, harsh and grating against the unnatural silence that has fallen around us.
The sound raises goosebumps along my arms despite the warmth of the day.
Glancing to my right, I see Rebel landing on the ledge just under the roof, his ebony feathers gleaming like oil in the sunlight.
At least he’s following me like he’s supposed to be.
I draw a small measure of comfort from his presence, my heartbeat steadying slightly at the sight of him.
Once we’re clear of the campus, the scales on the back of my neck stand on edge, a tingling sensation that travels down my spine like ice water.
The air around us feels charged, too still, as if the world is holding its breath.
“Get ready...” I whisper to Fin to warn him, my voice barely audible even to my own ears.
His nod is imperceptible, just a slight dip of his chin.
I see his muscles tense beneath his armor, the leather tightening across his shoulders as he readies himself for what’s to come.
The metallic taste of adrenaline floods my mouth, sharp and bitter.
Out of nowhere, three people charge us as we get closer to the southern dorms, their boots kicking up dust that catches in the sunlight like golden specks.
Their faces are contorted with hatred, teeth bared in snarls that make them look more beast than human.
The sound of their approach shatters the silence—heavy breathing, the clatter of weapons being drawn, a guttural battle cry that sends birds scattering from nearby trees.
Fin draws his short swords in one fluid motion, the metallic ring of steel cutting through the air like a physical presence.
An arch of crimson blood flies past my face, warm droplets spattering against my cheek like macabre raindrops, as he decapitates one of the attackers.
The wet, meaty thud of the head hitting the ground turns my stomach. But there’s no time to react.
The first part of my vision has happened, the recognition flashing through my mind with crystal clarity, then pain blooms at the back of my head as I am struck from behind.
The impact resonates through my skull like a bell being rung, white-hot agony spreading outward in pulsing waves.
The coppery scent of my blood fills my nostrils as warm wetness trickles down my neck.
My world tilts on axis, the ground, and sky trading places in a nauseating swirl of color and shadow.
Fin’s shout sounds distant and distorted, as if I’m underwater.
His face—a mask of horror and rage—is the last thing I see before everything goes black, darkness closing in from all sides like a smothering blanket.
The frigid, damp air seeps into my bones as I lie motionless on the hard ground, straining my ears to catch the faintest sounds around me.
Distant whispers float through the air, their source obscured by the vast expanse separating us.
Cautiously, I crack open the eye closest to the earth, surveying my surroundings through the narrowest slit.
Recognition dawns as I take in the ancient burial grounds on the peninsula, the crumbling remains of Klauth’s castle looming in the distance.
I vaguely recall seeing this place marked on one of the countless maps my father painstakingly created of the campus grounds.
Instinctively, I reach out with my mind, desperate to connect with Klauth, but my efforts are met with a chilling void.
The silence in my head is deafening, the comforting presence of my mates’ bonds now eerily absent.
Whatever has been done to me has severed our connection, leaving me isolated and vulnerable.
The crunch of approaching footsteps shatters the eerie calm, accompanied by the sound of voices growing louder with each passing second. “Time to check on our guest.” Lysander’s cruel tone slices through the air, sending icy tendrils of fear racing down my spine.
“What if the king finds out?” The second voice is all too familiar—Professor Kai Martz, the manticore science teacher.
Lysander’s laughter, cold and malicious, echoes off of the ancient stones. “He won’t. She’s going to have a choice. Accept me as a mate or die by my hands, which will kill the King. Or drive him mad, and the mages will imprison him again. This time, we’ll dump his egg in the ocean.”
As they draw nearer, I focus on remaining perfectly still, my breathing shallow and controlled. Playing dead was one of the first lessons my father drilled into me, a skill I pray Lysander is unaware of.
“Make her stand.” Lysander’s hiss sends prickles of dread across my skin, my heart plummeting as the realization hits me.
Fuck... He knows.