I slide from Zyphon’s back before he finishes shifting, my boots hitting stone as his scales ripple and contract. By the time I’ve drawn my blades, he’s standing beside me in human form, shadows curling around his shoulders like living things.
For a moment, I just look at him. Obsidian scales becoming pale skin, the cracks of his curse fading but not disappearing entirely. He catches me watching and raises an eyebrow.
“Enjoying the view?”
“Maybe.” I turn back to the entrance, hiding my smile. “Focus on the mission.”
“The wards.” Aisling eyes the shimmering barrier blocking the passage entrance, all business. “Can you break them?”
I step forward, letting my senses extend toward the magic. It’s Shadow Clan work—I recognize the signature, the cold hunger that characterizes their power. But I’ve spent weeks inside these defenses. I know their weaknesses intimately.
“Not break.” I press my palm against the ward, feeling it resist, feeling the magic try to identify me as threat or ally. “Unravel.”
My shadow-flame seeps into the ward’s structure, finding the threads of power that hold it together. This is what I was made for—not just Fire-Bringer flame, but the ability to sense magic, to understand it, to take it apart piece by piece. The talent that made me valuable enough to die for.
The ward fights me. Tries to burn my fire out, to consume my power the way Shadow Clan magic consumes everything. ButI’m stronger than I was when Lakhu controlled me. Stronger because I know the truth, because I have people worth fighting for, because a dragon with obsidian scales and centuries of devotion is standing at my back.
I feel Zyphon’s presence behind me—not touching, but close enough that his shadows brush against my fire. Supporting without interfering. Trusting me to do what needs to be done.
The ward shatters.
“Impressive.” Aisling’s tone is dry, but I catch the respect beneath it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“Noted.” I gesture toward the now-open passage. “After you.”
“Like hell.” She draws her own blade—a short sword she handles with surprising familiarity. “Fire-Bringers don’t go first into dark tunnels. That’s what dragons are for.”
Zyphon’s lips twitch. “She has a point.” He steps past us, shadows swirling around him, and disappears into the darkness.
Rurik herds us after Zyphon, flame flickering at his fingertips to light the way. “Stay close,” he says. “And if anything jumps out at us, try not to set my hair on fire.”
“No promises,” Aisling mutters, but there’s fondness beneath the exasperation. She catches my eye and shrugs. “Dragons. They’re all ridiculous.”
“But we love them anyway.”
“Apparently.” She gestures toward the tunnel. “Shall we?”
TWENTY-SIX
NASYRA
The passage descends into the mountain’s heart.
We move in silence, Zyphon leading, Rurik guarding our rear, Aisling and I in the middle. The darkness is absolute—no torches, no light sources, nothing but the faint glow of my shadow-flame and the deeper darkness of Zyphon’s curse marking our progress.
Guards wait at the first junction. Four of them, shadow-touched warriors who’ve sold their souls to Lakhu’s cause. They see Zyphon’s shadows and attack without hesitation.
They last approximately three seconds.
Zyphon moves through them with brutal efficiency, his curse consuming their attacks, his blades finding throats and hearts with the precision of centuries. By the time I’ve raised my own weapons, the guards are already falling.
“Show-off,” Rurik mutters.
“Efficient,” Zyphon corrects.
More guards wait deeper in the passage. These, I get to fight.
The first comes at me with a shadow-blade, the weapon trailing darkness. I duck under his swing, let my shadow-flame lick along my own blade, and open his throat in a single smooth motion. Blood sprays hot across my face. I don’t flinch.
