Darian woke to the sound of screaming.
Not his own—though his body still burned with phantom pain—but from somewhere deep within the fortress. He bolted upright, his corrupted hand twitching as shadows writhed beneath his skin like trapped insects. The chamber was empty, the ritual's remnants smeared across the floor in ashen spirals. Sumner was gone.
"Sumner?" he called through the bond.
Silence.
Then—a pulse. A flicker of warmth, distant but alive. The dragon was near, but something was wrong. The connection felt strained, as though muffled by layers of fog.
Darian staggered to his feet, his muscles protesting. The door to the crypt was ajar, torchlight flickering in the hall beyond. He reached for his sword—only to find it missing. Damn.
The screams came again, closer this time. A woman's voice, raw with terror.
He burst into the corridor, following the sound. The fortress was a maze of shadowed arches and narrow stairwells, the air thick with the scent of burning herbs and something darker—iron, maybe. Blood.
At the end of the hall, a figure slumped against the wall, their robes drenched crimson. Archivist Kael.
Darian dropped to his knees beside him. "What happened?"
Kael's milky eyes were wide, his breath shallow. "They took… the dragon," he rasped.
"Who?"
"The… Order." Kael's hand trembled as he pointed to a symbol carved into his own chest—a serpent coiled around a blade. "They've… waited… for this."
Darian's blood turned to ice. The Order of the Serpent—Sumner had spoken of them before. Fanatics who believed dragons were abominations, remnants of a forgotten war. They'd been hunted to extinction centuries ago.
Or so we thought.
Kael's grip tightened suddenly, his nails biting into Darian's wrist. "The relic," he choked out. "They're using it to—agh!"
His body convulsed, then went still.
Darian didn't have time to process. Boots echoed on stone—a patrol, closing in. He dragged Kael's body into a side chamber just as torchlight flooded the hall.
"—check the crypt," a voice snapped. "If the Dragon King is alive, the High Ascendant wants him alive."
Darian pressed himself against the wall, his mind racing. Sumner was taken. The Order had infiltrated Valtor. And Seraphine—where was she? Ally or enemy?
A hand clamped over his mouth.
He nearly lashed out before recognizing the silver gauntlet. Seraphine yanked him deeper into the shadows, her face a mask of cold fury. "You're supposed to be dead," she whispered.
Darian wrenched free. "Where's Sumner?"
"The Order has him. They've been hiding in my city for years." Her jaw tightened. "They're using the Dawnbreaker—an ancient relic designed to sever bonds like yours. They'll tear him apart from the inside out."
The words sent a jolt of pure terror through him. "Take me to him. Now."
Seraphine hesitated, then nodded toward a hidden passage. "There's a way into the catacombs beneath the fortress. But if we're caught, we die. And your dragon will be lost."
Darian didn't care. He'd burn the entire city to the ground if it meant saving Sumner.
As they slipped into the darkness, the whispers began—not from the walls, but from the corruption in his hand.
Let him go, it murmured. Let him break.
Darian clenched his fist until his nails drew blood.
The voices lied.
He would get Sumner back—or die trying.